Southern Cross Dream
by Bruce Pendragon
Summary: Mike and Mica are home, but unanswered questions remain. Dr. J. puzzles over the cipher, Merlin reappears to share an ancient truth and shed light on Zoda's motive, and Mike is troubled by strange dreams. Crossover elements in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Bittersweet Homecomings

Southern Cross Dream  
Chapter One: Bittersweet Homecomings

_You were beauty incorruptible;/An angel of wisdom true; a light/For countless worlds, the dream of poets,/The hope of prophets and the legacy of the kings/Of a realm that spanned the nighttime heavens./But since you would not fall from those heavens,/It was Hell that came to you._

_From the womb of this Earth/To nightmare's high throne/I sought you, the dream yet undreamed,/Knowing neither quest nor destiny, but only the call./I followed that call even before I heard it,/Before I recognized it, before I knew/That the voice in the Southern Cross was yours._

_-_Southern Cross Princess_, Micheal D. Jones, Summer Poem Assignment: September 3, 1990_

"Sap! Abso-freakin'-lute sap," 16 year-old Micheal Jones growled as he crumpled up this, his umpteenth attempt at an adequate poem, and pitched it across the room at a trashbasket. His aim was true, and the wad would have gone in were it not for the mountain of previous poems with the same fate. As it was, the projectile bounced harmlessly off the top of the pile and rolled under the teenager's bed. "I swear, why does English have to have homework?" running a hand through his thick, wavy brown hair before again picking up his pen, he glanced down at the next leaf of his dwindling notebook and forced himself to try once more. "Besides, I'm supposed to be writing about my summer vacation, not about... about..." He sighed, unwilling to attach the final word on the end of that sentence. "Not about some too-perfect, nonexistent girl. 'Southern Cross Princess,' geez," he decided to put down his pen and vent his thoughts aloud to the captive audience of his empty bedroom. "Get it together, Mike. What are the odds that a girl like that is ever going to just fall out of the sky again? It's..." Mike reconsidered what he had just said, wondering if this was what his father meant when he talked about a Freudian Slip. "Why did I say 'again?'"

After giving the matter one more moment's thought, Mike shook the questions from his head, returned his attention to the assignment, and began thinking about his past summer's vacation: a vacation he still wasn't sure he completely believed. After all, how many of the other students' vacations included adventure on the high seas, battles with monsters in the deep caves of an island chain, and rescuing the last remnant of a near-extinct alien civilization from something he barely dared to remember. _A nightmare,_ he recalled, thinking about the poem. _A nightmare named Zoda, whose 'high throne' was a ship orbiting at about 200 miles up. I actually HAVE been writing about my vacation._

"Y'know, on second thought," Mike mused, putting down his notebook and crawling under the bed to reach the balled-up poem, "maybe that 'sap' has potential after all." As his hand found the paper ball, he opened it back up and reread it, mildly pleased with himself for what he saw on the page. _Not exactly Shakespeare I guess, but it's the first thing I've managed that didn't begin with 'Roses are red, violets are blue.' _A knock at the bedroom door drew Mike's attention. "Come in," he called.

The face of Mike's father, Psychiatrist Dennis Jones appeared at the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but your Uncle Steve's on the phone. He wants you to come down to the lab, and he says it's urgent."

"Urgent? Why?"

"Didn't say much. All he said was he needed your assistance."

Mike frowned. There had only been two times Steven Jones had ever asked for Mike's help. The first was what led Mike to Zoda's ship, and the second time had led him on a time-traveling misadventure worthy of Marty McFly. However, those details had been a secret that remained between Mike, his uncle, and those who witnessed the events, and Mike was not eager to be his father's next patient. With a sigh, he dropped the pen and notebook onto his nightstand and started off for his uncle's lab.

_June 18, 1990  
__Earth orbit, altitude 213 miles_

"Some vacation," Mike grumbled as the ship shook violently from another internal explosion. "I came to a tropical paradise to fish, catch some sun, and maybe even check out a few island chicks sunbathing. Instead…" he was interrupted by a hiss of steam exploding forth from a nearby access panel, followed by a computerized voice petulantly announcing something he could not translate in a deep, gooey bass voice. "Instead, I'm here on this ship. And what a splendid idea it was to shoot the reactor with a laser death ray thingy," he picked up his rant where he left off, walking disinterestedly through the steam venting from the wall.

"God, what was I thinking. 'Mike, your uncle was abducted by aliens. Here's a yo-yo.' 'Mike, you have to take the test of Island Courage, and don't forget your yo-yo!' 'Mike, you have to go find him.' 'Mike, they kidnapped me for what I knew. They wiped out a planet called Argonia twenty years ago, and now they're back to finish the job. You have to board the ship and recover three artifacts, because they're _maaagical._ Oh, and don't forget your yo-yo!' Sure, Uncle Steve, why not? Acid slugs, mutant cobras, ghosts, whales, multi-ton Indiana Jones bowling ball things, this summer just wouldn't be complete without a little stroll through an alien warship, now would it? And do I have a single clue what these 'magic cubes' are supposed to do? No? Well who cares? It's an interstellar rescue attempt. Who're we gonna call? The Marines? The FBI? The Ghostbusters? No, of course not! We'll get the captain of the St. Helen Prep Academy Baseball team!"

Something hissed at Mike from just outside his field of vision, and he quickly raised his 'laser death ray thingy (he would later learn it was called a "Kilarrij Combat Engineering Static Pistol"),' noting as he did that the charge meter was dangerously low. He only had a few shots left out of the weapon, and he needed to conserve them. Slowly and (he hoped) quietly, he returned the pistol to his belt and unthreaded the silver chain of his favored weapon, a ball-and-chain he liked to call 'Super Nova' made of an unearthly metal, from his beltloop.

He listened harder for any sign of the noise repeating, but the ship was a jumble of alert sirens, explosions and bulkheads straining under the stress of atmospheric reentry. Mike's self-inflicted headache wasn't helping his hearing any either, nor were the bananas he had jammed into his ears to cause the headache. Still, he didn't dare remove them. The throbbing pain in his head was the only thing keeping an unwanted presence out of it: the presence of a telepathic monster, called Zoda.

He shuddered as he thought of that creature, a creature he may or may not have killed a few rooms ago. He'd felt the alien's presence in his mind first. A shadowy hallucination and an echoing voice, proclaiming itself to be the "Prime Invader, Zoda, destroyer of Argonia." The alien had been unmistakably present in Mike's own head, so intrusive that Mike felt sure it could feel everything he felt.

And so, he'd decided to let it feel a migraine, by jamming his intended lunch into his ears. He'd felt a scream of pain, and it wasn't his own, as the alien recoiled from his mind. The triumph had been short-lived, however, for beyond the very next door Mike had faced the demon in the flesh.

Shrouded almost completely in a purple cape, with only metallic gloves and boots, with the occasional glint of armor the color of obsidian visible beneath, Zoda had clearly fashioned his appearance to induce terror. His shoulders were covered with armor of the same black metal, and bore spikes, as if the wearer needed the added protection. His face, which looked down on Jones from nearly seven and a half feet up, was covered by a horned helmet, the same metal still, with no opening in the front except a semi-transparent "T" shaped visor through which shone the red slits that served as his eyes.

That fight had been a short one: almost too short, Mike thought. True, a series of blows to the side of the head from Super Nova should have been enough to kill just about anything, but this was the alien dictator who had demolished a more advanced world then Earth before. Besides, Mike was sure he had seen something huge running from that dark room… something that had not been there during the fight, and he never did find Zoda's body.

No. The more Mike thought about it, the less he believed Zoda was dead. And now, here he was, inching through a corridor leading from the reactor room to God-only-knew-where, with almost no visibility, and the ship was about to shake itself to pieces. If that wasn't bad enough, he now knew he wasn't alone in the corridor.

_Hisssssss._

Peering through the now-thinning steam for the source of the hissing noise, Mike thought for a fleeting moment he saw something enormous moving in the shadowy smoke a few dozen yards in front of him. He tensed for a moment, preparing to swing the mace wide, but his only reward was the sounds of the ship around him and more of the unearthly noise.

_Hisssssss._

"What is that thing," he whispered, listening intently for the source.

_Splat, splat, splat._

"Something disgusting."

A few tentacles waved about fifteen feet in front of Mike.

"Something with… feet."

Then, the thing came into view. It was, as near as Mike could tell, a mass about a foot in diameter with thousands of snake-like appendages that sprawled out three feet from it in every direction.

"Lots.. and _lots…_ of feet."

The creature moved toward Mike without any sound except for the same hissing noise. After everything that he had been through on this ship, Mike had to laugh momentarily at the clumsy-looking, misbegotten wretch before him. It was likely the least dangerous-looking thing he had encountered. Still, he wasn't about to take chances. Tightening his batter's grip on the Super Nova, he swung at the thing. The chain swung wide, and the silvery spikes on the kudgel connected with so much force that the creature was flung against the side of the corridor, impacting just in time for the heat of another erupting steam leak to burn its soft body to a putrid smelling gas.

"Well, that was easy," Mike said as he finally passed clear of the clouds of steam. "Now it's just a matter of-" He was interrupted by another hissing sound. Looking up toward the source of it, he was able to make out two more of the wriggling abominations in the dim light cast by the electrical fires around him. Super Nova flew straight and true once, then twice more, and these two met the same fate as their kin, but this was getting Mike nowhere.

Another explosion, heralded by a massive rumbling that nearly caused Mike to lose his balance once more, reminded him of the urgency of his situation. This ship was going to crash, if it survived long enough to even reach the ground, and he needed to find a way off of it, to say nothing of finding what he came here for in the first place. He could feel the pulsing energy of the two Argonian cubes in his pocket, but Uncle Steve had made it clear they were useless unless he had all three. "So I've got to find the third, and fast. Geez, whatever these things are, they better be worth it."

The heat from the fires around the boy was beginning to sap his strength, and the pounding in his head grew to such a level he could barely see. Acting on sheer instinct, Mike drew his Static Pistol, fired a few shots blindly in front of him for cover, and charged forward toward the end of the corridor and, he hoped, the last cube. He barely managed to stop in time to keep from crashing into a green metal door as it came into view. Quickly, he pressed the button he had come to recognize as "open," and the door slid open halfway. Mike squeezed through, unable to see anything around him but an explosion of color as the strain on his senses finally took its toll. Upon reaching the other side, Mike was briefly aware that the door had slammed shut behind him.

That was when he heard it: a high, chilling, reptilian laugh, echoing through what Mike guessed was a massive, empty room, filling his mind as it reverberated. Regaining his addled senses through sheer force of will, Mike looked around him in the darkness. _Something is close,_ he thought, holstering the Static Pistol and brandishing his more familiar Super Nova, _and it's something that isn't friendly._

"It took you long enough, Terran," the voice screamed loudly enough that Mike cringed from the ringing.

Mike, his vision struggling to adjust to the alternating light and darkness as panels around him sparked violently enough to momentarily illuminate the room before cooling down again, said nothing. He also did not move, unsure what he was facing. _Still,_ he thought, _there's something familiar about it. Almost like…_

"What's the matter, Terran? Have you forgotten me already? Or did you honestly think I'd fall so easily?"

Now Mike understood. "Actually, I pretty much guessed you managed to slink away from that fight before I could finish you off, _Zoda_."

"Bright boy, for a Terran," Zoda rasped as something disturbingly large moved into the outskirts of Mike's vision. "But that was my natural form: weak, imperfect, limited." The monstrous form moved close enough for Mike to make out its grotesquely misshapen features. "There's so much more to the real me."

Even at a distance he estimated to be 20 yards, Mike had to crane his neck upward to see the behemoth before him. It was bipedal, covered in moist, almost amphibian skin of an unnatural burgundy-ish shade. It's short, wide legs, ending in clawed, two-toed feet, protruded forth from a massive body with some kind of mucus membrane centered where the navel of a mammal would have been. Its shoulders were covered in a growth that appeared to Mike as a mix of mold and warts, and several of these pustules dripped a thick, greenish liquid down its back and chest. Reaching down from these shoulders were muscular arms, almost as disproportionately long as the beast's legs were short, with hands each bearing four long, clawed fingers with two opposable thumbs. Its head had a bony crest that reminded Mike of some he had seen on dinosaur fossils at the Smithsonian Museum. Its face, the most horrifying of all, consisted of little more than a piranha-like jaw, containing double rows of teeth so large the creature looked barely capable of opening and closing its mouth, and tiny, sunken eyes that stared back at Mike with murderous intent.

"Oh! So in your other form you did stunt work for Darth Vader and Boba Fett," Mike jeered, "and in this one you want revenge for what Sigourney Weaver did to your brothers. I get it."

Zoda, apparently recognizing the references from the brief time he spent in Mike's mind, merely hissed. "Let me spare you the small talk before you die, Terran. This is the escape pod hangar. There's only one pod, and it only has life support for one."

"So why haven't you bailed yet, handsome?"

Zoda laughed, the same chilling laugh as before. "Well, there is the little matter of those two cubes in your pocket."

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "There's that, and there's one more that I plan on finding after I kill you, right before I hijack the pod and eject."

The monster that was Zoda popped its knuckles, causing Mike to wince at the inhuman contortions it took to do so. "And that, _boy_, is what it comes down to: you, me, three cubes, and one pod. If I've found favor with my ancestor, I'll emerge victorious with your head as a trophy. If not," he clenched his fists, "well, if not, then you _deserve_ to get off alive."

Mike clicked his tongue. "Kill the monster, find the treasure, and bail," he muttered. "Simple enough. I've done it a thousand times in video arcades."

Zoda, with his eyes closed tightly, didn't respond. It almost appeared to Mike that he was praying. To what, Mike was afraid to contemplate. When the monstrosity finally opened his eyes and leveled them directly at Mike, there was a sinister resolve behind them. Roaring, he charged across the span between them as quickly as his short legs would propel him.

"Well then," Mike said with a grin, loosening his grip on Super Nova's chain and beginning to swing the mace in an ever-widening circle, "let's get naughty."

_September 3, 1990  
__Dr. Steven Jones' Lab; Seattle, Washington_

Dr. Steven Jones was busy: obscenely busy. Fortunately, this was a state not at all unfamiliar to the middle-aged archaeologist. In fact, he rather preferred being busy to being bored. What bothered him about this particular state of being busy was that the answers he sought, staring down at a desk covered in page upon page of copied runes, continually seemed to elude him. "Doesn't make any sense," he muttered as he gazed through his bifocals at a page he was sure he had gone over at least a hundred times. "Ruins were in the south seas, and about two thousand years old, so the cipher should be in some kind of Indo-Polynesian. Not even close, and why are there Latin letters in parts?"

The cipher whose scribbled offspring now peopled Dr. Jones' desk had been found in an underground labyrinth in the tropics, in a chain of islands known by their inhabitants as 'the Islands of the Southern Cross.' He had stumbled across it a little more than a year before, mainly by accident. The labyrinth had apparently been sealed off for centuries, and was uncovered only by a massive metallic asteroid crashing through the thin ground and into one of the labyrinth's larger chambers. Jones had taken immediate interest in the lucky find, and spent hours, days, and on a few occasions weeks at a time trying to uncover its secrets. When he first found the Latin-derived cipher he believed it was evidence of European influence upon the region as early as the height of Roman power, a find that flew right in the face of current historical doctrine. Its true origins, it turned out, heralded a far more distant influence on the islands than that of Rome.

Jones thought of himself as a true scientist, not given to the whimsies and pseudo-sciences of many of the fringe-thinkers of his field. He did not set much stock by the theories that extra-terrestrials were behind the pyramids, or Stonehenge, or the myriad of other wonders so many people seemed so reluctant to accredit to early Humanity. He thought even less of what he considered to be the "camera-loving wack-o's," dug up in droves by the media, who claimed to have been abducted by aliens. If he had been able, then, to tell his two-years-younger self that this was the very fate that awaited him in the South Seas, he felt certain he would have spent the past two years searching for a new line of work.

That, though, was exactly how it had been. The past summer, after a major breakthrough concerning a runic message actually carved on the side of the asteroid, Jones had found himself face-to-face with the so-called "Prime Invader," Zoda. Looking upon this devil, Jones had become convinced he was facing death himself. Zoda, however, had other plans. Much to Jones' chagrin, the alien had taken note of his progress in deciphering the glyphs in the ruins: more progress, it turned out, than Zoda's own disciples had made. For this, the apparent sin of being smarter than a legion of alien marauders, Jones had been coerced into disclosing everything he knew about the cipher, and the asteroid (or rather, as he had learned from deciphering the runes, the escape pod).

The escape pod, as it turned out, had been the last hope of a dying world called Argonia. The planet's history was still a bit hazy to Dr. Jones. However, by putting together what he had overheard from Zoda, what little of the cipher he had translated, and the accounts his nephew, Mike, had given him, he knew that the planet had been attacked twenty years before by Zoda. The battle, as near as Jones could tell, had been more of a wholesale slaughter. Argonia's final grab for survival had been placing their leader (named Hirocon, according to the cipher), his daughter, and six other children into a form of stasis and sending them off into space (and time, it seemed, at least in the case of Hirocon). By this, they hoped to escape the destruction of their homeworld. Realizing that he had been outmaneuvered, Zoda had apparently tracked the pod to Earth, and had very nearly finished what he began on Argonia. He would have succeeded, too, had it not been for Dr. Jones' reckless nephew, Mike. Mike, coming to the nearby C-Island, home of Dr. Jones' main lab, for what was supposed to be a vacation, had somehow managed to rescue the doctor, board Zoda's ship, kill the alien, destroy the ship, salvage the cubes and escape unharmed. Unharmed, that is, with the hitherto unexplained exception of a pair of bananas jammed into his ears in a painful-looking fashion. Recalling this, Jones made a mental note to ask Mike about the story behind the bananas.

Jones had to wonder, though, about one thing, and it was that thing that allowed him to decode the cipher in the first place. The runes on the escape pod had been in Argonian, that much was certain. It was those runes that had enabled Dr. Jones to activate the cubes, freeing seven of the eight survivors, who, curiously enough, were all children and all spoke perfect, unbroken English. That itself could have been explained away, but Dr. Jones could not wrap his mind around the larger mystery.

If the runes were in Argonian, why were they the same runes that had been in the ruins? And why were there bits of Latin? If it had been difficult to believe the Romans had been this far, what did that leave him with now? "With the idea that there was a two-thousand year-old colony of Latin-speaking aliens in the South seas, and now those same aliens have returned speaking perfect English," Dr. Jones growled sarcastically. "And for that matter, Zoda did too. God, it's like watching a bloody _Star Trek_ rerun."

"Hey," came Mike's scolding voice from the door of the lab. "Don't dis _Star Trek_. And don't leave the front door open either. You never know who might walk in."

Dr. Jones looked up over his bifocals at his nephew. "Indeed. It might even be some crazy, yo-yo wielding teenager with bananas in his ears." Taking a moment to enjoy Mike's aggravated expression at his joke, he became serious. "I trust I didn't pull you away from anything important."

Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans and shrugged. "Nah, not really. Just some homework that the teacher shouldn't have been giving out over Labor Day Weekend. What's up?"

Dr. Jones considered making a comment about the Mike's reference to his homework being unimportant, but thought better of it. He couldn't blame the boy for finding anything related to the past summer's events more exciting than high school homework. He himself certainly would have at that age. Adjusting his glasses he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him, and began. "Well, I've been working more on this cipher, as you can see, and I need your help with something."

Mike gave his most exhausted sigh. "Tell me this isn't going to involve aliens or time travel."

"No," the Doctor chuckled, "it shouldn't. I just need to ask you a question or two."

Mike looked relieved. "Then fire away."

"Mike, you and Mica spent a lot of time together this past summer, am I right?"

Mike chewed his lip for a moment at the mention of Mica, the red-haired Argonian Princess, about his own age. "Yeah," he admitted. "We did. Why?"

"Did you two ever talk about Argonia?"

Mike wrinkled his forehead. "Well, some. I mean, it was kind of a bogus subject for her, but she told me a little about the way it was before… well, you know."

Dr. Jones nodded, apparently having heard exactly what he was hoping to hear thus far. "Did she ever mention anything about Argonians making previous contact with Earth?" At Mike's confused look, Dr. Jones decided to be a bit more specific. "Perhaps… around the time of the Roman Empire?"

Mike slowly shook his head. "I don't think so." Then, a thought occurred to him. "But now that you mention it, Merlin did say something about Hirocon being an old friend of his."

"Hmm," Dr Jones removed his glasses long enough to wipe them on his shirt. "Merlin, you say?"

"Yeah," Mike continued, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Merlin. You know, King Arthur? Camelot? Knights of the Round Table? _That_ Merlin."

Doctor Jones frowned back at Mike skeptically, but said nothing.

"You don't believe me," Mike said in a manner that could have been either a question or a statement.

Dr. Jones unfolded his hands and drummed on his desk a few moments in thought. "Eighteen months ago," he finally spoke up, "I would have sworn you had a high fever. Then again, eighteen months ago I hadn't been abducted, twice, by aliens. Eighteen months ago I hadn't watched you get sucked into a history book with the book disappearing behind you. Eighteen months ago I hadn't gotten a surprise collect call from you three days later to tell me you had popped up at my island lab, carrying the book along with eight golden Tetris blocks with an alien king's soul trapped in them." Dr. Jones looked back at Mike through his newly polished bifocals. "You met Merlin then."

Mike nodded.

"Did he actually know magic?"

"Well, sort of," Mike answered. "He's the one who taught me how to use… well, that."

"You mean your so-called 'psychic shockwave' that you burned half of my research notes with, and your telepathy with which you have prevented me from working in peace ever since, and that annoying telekinesis trick that you nearly demolished my lab trying to master."

Mike looked away. "Yeah, that. Thanks."

Folding his hands again, Dr. Jones prodded Mike to continue. "So, then, Merlin the wizard really existed, as a psychic shockwaving, telekinetic telepath, and he knew Hirocon."

"Yeah," Mike agreed. "In fact, it was him who scattered the Tetrads across history for Hirocon."

When Mike didn't go on, Dr. Jones decided to prod him a bit more. "And?"

"And that's all I know," Mike responded. "I was too busy trying to kill a dragon to ask Merlin any questions, and I didn't think to ask Mica during my vacation." He paused. "I mean, it's just not the kind of thing I would have thought of."

Dr. Jones, now deep in thought, ignored Mike's excuses. "If Merlin knew Hirocon, that would make Hirocon tremendously old."

Mike shook his head. "Nah, not really. I think Merlin knew how to do some kind of time travel, because he showed up in Egypt and the American West too."

Stumped, but unwilling to be defeated, Dr. Jones decided to try a different angle. "Then how about this. Did Mica, or any of the Argonians for that matter, ever explain why they spoke English?"

Mike looked at Dr. Jones quizzically. "Uh, Uncle Steve, they're from a super-advanced alien society. I guessed their families or whatever just taught them English before they left Argonia."

Dr. Jones laughed. "How kind of Zoda, then, to call in advance and say 'hey, I'd suggest you learn another planet's language so you can hide from me when I annihilate your world.'"

Mike looked down, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, didn't think of that." after a moment, he tried another explanation. "What about some kind of universal translator chip. You know, like in-"

"Let me guess," Dr. Jones sighed. "You're about to say 'like in _Star Trek_.' I swear, Mike. You really need to lay off that science-fiction garbage."

"Hey, come on," Mike defended his response. "It makes sense."

"No, Mike, it really doesn't" Dr. Jones explained with practiced patience. "For example, it still wouldn't explain how and when Argonians got enough exposure to English to program it into their translators. Besides, that would explain how they understood English, but not how they were able to speak it."

Silence.

"So, uh, what's with all the questions all of a sudden, Uncle Steve?"

Dr. Jones chuckled a bit. "Stubborn curiosity, I guess. I am, after all, an archaeologist."

"Yeah," Mike agreed. "But there's something you're not telling me."

"I admit, that's true," Dr. Jones adjusted his bifocals unnecessarily. "And it's something to do with this damned cipher."

"What about it?"

Dr. Jones paused, apparently weighing whether or not it would be prudent to tell his nephew. In the end, he decided to do so. "Basically, I was hoping you could offer some clues as to why a two-thousand year-old cipher in the south seas would be in a mixture of Argonian and Latin."

Mike froze, staring dumbfounded at the round-faced, balding scientist. "Argonian? On Earth?"

Dr. Jones nodded. "Two-thousand years old, and mixed with the native tongue of Rome, but in a part of the world the Romans could never have possibly reached."

Mike slowly shook his head, never taking his eyes off of Dr. Jones. "Uncle Steve, you're the famous scientist here. I'm just a baseball player. What made you think I'd be able to answer that?"

"Well," Dr. Jones said at length. "Let me show you." And with that, he got up from his desk, walked over to a waist-high bookshelf across sitting below his picture window, and removed a thick, red-orange book that was all-too familiar to Mike.

"No!" Mike shouted, pointing at the book. "No, no, no! Bad Dr. J! Not again!"

"Oh, will you relax," Dr. Jones coaxed as he picked up the _Oxford Wonder World of Human History _and placed it on his desk. With a grin, he added, "I mean, it's not like I'm going to start chanting 'paa paa paa-'"

Mike pointed his finger acidly at Dr. Jones. "Unc, I'm not in the mood. I just got out of that thing two weeks ago, and just got back to Seattle a week ago because the stupid thing spat me back out on C-Island."

"Yes," Dr. Jones replied, "and while we're on that subject, young man, I hope you appreciate the trouble I had to go through to hide your disappearance. It wasn't easy convincing your parents that you decided to spend the week here and help me work on this cipher but were too tired from baseball practice and homework to come to the phone. It wasn't easy convincing your teachers that you had a rare case of 'Island Flu,' and it damned sure wasn't easy keeping the school from calling your parents to ask questions about the nature of the disease. Not to mention-"

"Alright, I get the picture," Mike cut him off. "And thanks. Just, don't go spouting off that bogus incantation again. Or if you do, at least warn me so I can go home and get the Nova."

"I won't," Dr. Jones assured him.

Mike's tension subsided, but only slightly. "Then what's left to look for in it? I found the tetrads and got back to the present. I finished the book."

Dr. Jones furrowed his brow. "Yes, you got the tetrads, and you made it back…" he flipped to the last page of the eighth chapter of the book, "here. But take a look…" he flipped to the page behind it, the last page of the book (Mike thought), and pointed, "here."

Interested, Mike followed Dr. Jones' finger. There, on the back of what he had thought to be the final page, was a ninth chapter, only half a page long, with another half page illustration. "Hmm, weird. I never noticed that before."

Dr. Jones nodded. "Like everything in the book but the title, it's also in Latin, so I don't think you'll be able to read it." He leaned back away from the book, allowing Mike to examine it himself. "It's really vague, but the gist of it is that the greatest champions of evil in the history of the universe cross time and space to make war on a 'Vanguard of Heroes,' as the book puts it, dedicated to resisting them. If I didn't already know there was more to this book than meets the eye, I'd swear it was total crap. I mean, it sounds like something out of a comic book, but…" he waved his hand toward the book as if to emphasize his point. "Well, there it is."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, his eyes wide as he made a startling realization about what he saw on the page, "there it is. And get a load of the picture."

The illustration consisted of five beings in silhouette, three at the center with two more off to the left. Of the three at the center, one appeared to be some kind of reptile, its back covered in spikes with a head that reminded Mike of the dragon he'd fought in Ancient England on his ill-fated first encounter with the book, except with horns and a flame-like mane of hair. Another appeared to have the tusks of a warthog, and held a weapon in its hand that looked like a pitchfork or a trident, and the third was a creature with immense girth and something like a broad mustache. Of the two on the left side, one had distinctly Simian features, but it was the one half-concealed behind that one that had captured Mike's attention. "I know," Dr. Jones said darkly without looking at the book. "It's Zoda. You noticed that too, I see. And I get the feeling that whatever connection the Argonians have with Earth, this is related to it in some way."

Mike slowly turned first his head, then his eyes away from the book and locked eyes with the scholar. "So, what do you think it means?"

Dr. Jones looked back at his nephew with an almost sorrowful certainty. "I don't know," he conceded, "but I think what happened on those islands in the tropics this summer was barely the beginning."

_Four Earth days later  
__Argo City, Argonia_

The beach of Argo City was so serene that at a glance, one would be hard-pressed to tell what an ordeal the planet had been through. The whitish sands, green in the light shining off the emerald moon, felt cool and welcome between the toes of the young girl walking along the beach, and the unswerving pulse of the waves sounded just as it always had before Zoda's attack. Taking in a deep breath of the midnight breeze, the girl savored the familiar scent of the salty sea foam carried on the crests of the misty waves, two or three shades darker than the seas of Earth. To a homesick teenage girl, it was as if the planet itself threw a private homecoming party for her.

"So why do I feel like this is the second time I've gone into exile?" Thought Princess Mica Argo, daughter of the Argonian Regent, Hirocon. "This is my first night home in years. I should be bubbling with euphoria, too giddy to speak." She took a moment to absorb the sounds, the smell, the very taste of the air of the familiar home she thought she would never see again. After all the 'if-only' and 'I wish' dreams she and her six companions had shared, here she was. She knew how she thought she would feel, how she should feel…

…how she _wanted_ to feel about it.

So why didn't she?

Could it be that in her two and a half months on Earth, awakened from twenty years of time sleep to find herself on a tiny, remote island in a remote corner of a tiny, remote world, she had come to call that island home?

Her eyes turned to the stars, toward a constellation of twelve stars in the vague shape of a hand. Amid them, one small speck of yellowish light seemed to glimmer for a moment. She recognized it instantly. It was the one where her father had sent her, twenty years before, to escape the coming of the Prime Invader.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, the thought of that monster didn't cause her to shudder. Maybe it was because he could no longer hurt her. He was dead, vanquished by a hero from that distant point of light: the same hero who saved Mica and the six from their temporal prison.

The princess smiled, her eyes still fixed on that tiny yellow star as she thought of Micheal Jones, the boy-hero of Argonia. Though not a quarter of a cycle older than her by Argonian measurements, it had been his simple courage that stopped the nightmare, destroyed Argonia's destroyer, and saved her and her people. If she never got to return to Earth, if the eight refugees were doomed to spending their remaining years carving the struggling foundations of a rebuilt Argonia, at least she had gotten to meet Mike.

As her swirling thoughts came to rest on the brief time spent with Mike, Mica found her smile fading. After all, she didn't get a chance to really say good-bye. Her father's emergence from the tetrads, the return to Argonia, it had all happened so fast. All she had managed was a sugar-tablet farewell of 'I'll be thinking about you.' Looking down at the sand as she sat down against the abandoned shell of one of Argonia's great crustaceans, Mica sighed. The fact was, there had been so much more to say.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, my dear," came the rugged voice of Mica's father. Mica looked over her left shoulder, back in the direction of the city, to find him walking up the beach toward her.

"Not at all daddy," she said with a smile, patting the sand beside her with her palm. "Have a seat." Smiling back, Hirocon accepted the invitation.

Father and daughter sat in silence for a few moments before Hirocon finally spoke up. "You know, you don't seem as happy as I thought you would be."

Mica shrugged, shaking her head. "I guess I just wasn't ready for how bad it would be." That was a half-truth and Mica knew it. More importantly, with her father's psionic abilities, it was likely that he knew. Thankfully, he humored her.

"Well, when Zoda decided he had taken everything he could use, it seems he demolished the Frontier."

Mica's mouth hung open incredulously. _I knew Zoda was a monster, _she thought._ No, a devil. But the Frontier?! That's Argonia's only defense against _Them_. Surely, even Zoda must have feared _Them.

"Apparently not," Hirocon answered Mica's unspoken thought.

Mica blanched, narrowing her eyes angrily toward her father. "Dad! A little privacy please!"

Hirocon looked puzzled, so Mica decided to be a bit clearer. "You could at least ask before scanning my surface thoughts."

"You're my daughter," Hirocon said in defense of his actions.

"I'm fifteen cycles old," Mica countered. "There are some thoughts I don't want my father barging in on." She turned her eyes back toward the surf, signaling that the off-topic conversation was over and it was time to return to the original subject. "How bad is it?"

"_They_ infected every animal and every computer, at least in the Northern Hemisphere, but for some reason when _They_ got just south of the Acid Shallows, _They _just stopped."

Mica puzzled over that for a moment. "Why?"

"I wish I knew," Hirocon replied sincerely. "But we need to find out, and quickly. If _They_ learn that the most powerful psionics on Argonia have returned, _They'll_ be all over us in no time."

"How many are there?"

"As near as we can tell, one queen and a young hive."

Mica clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. "More than enough to overwhelm eight Argonians."

Hirocon nodded somberly. "Yes, if _They_ detect our presence. That's why we have to eradicate _Them_ quickly."

"And rebuild the Frontier," Mica added in, "in case _They_ decide to call any friends."

Hirocon looked at his daughter admonishingly. "You let me worry about the Frontier.

Mica started to respond, but hesitated.

"As for the infestation," Hirocon continued, turning his head back toward the surf, "that presents a far more immediate threat. As far as we know right now, the eight of us are the only survivors. I don't have to tell you that we can do very little alone."

Mica nodded, sensing her father was going somewhere with this but not knowing where. "You actually believe the Alliance will help us out after all this time?"

Hirocon shook his head. "Irrelevant. Even if the Alliance has remained intact, we haven't the means to contact them. Zoda didn't leave a power source intact that could generate an interstellar communiqué. Besides, if the Frontier is down, the rest of the Alliance is probably little better off than Argonia."

"Then what will we do?"

Hirocon frowned. "Argonians aren't warriors, Mica. You know that. We've devoted our society to art and science for so long we've simply bred the fighter gene out of our race." He continued a bit awkwardly. "Truth-be-known, that's why we were so dependent on the Alliance."

Mica nodded, growing a bit impatient. "Right. Never mind that the Alliance was nowhere around when Zoda struck."

Hirocon bit his lip. "Well, Mica, don't be too quick to condemn our allies. The Alliance is old, and a lack of contact between worlds may have caused it to crumble. If that's the case, it's Argonia that's to blame."

Mica acted as though she did not want to acknowledge that. "So the question is 'now what?'" More silence followed. In that silence, a thought occurred to Mica. "What about Mike?"

Hirocon immediately shook his head vigorously. "Out of the question. It's a twenty-year journey to Earth."

Mica rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know all about the trip there. But it's funny," a mildly accusatory tone seeped into her voice. "It wasn't a twenty-year trip back."

"That was different," Hirocon answered quickly. "I knew Argonia. I was tied to it. It's easy for a powerful psionic to travel to a place to he knows so well. But to travel to a barely known world the same way isn't possible. If it were, why would we need spaceships?"

Mica was preparing a response when the two heard a high, squeaky voice. "Mica! Your Majesty!" Mica recognized the voice as Saera, the youngest of the six children who accompanied her to Earth. Mica and Hirocon both stood up as she approached.

"What is it? What's wrong, Saera?" Mica asked as the child came skidding to a halt, the twin pigtails of her red hair bounding forward over her shoulders as her small feet dug ruts in the sand.

"We need you to come quick," Saera gasped. "Daru and Naberra found some people in a cave. They're still alive!"

* * *

Mike awoke from a dream more suddenly than he was used to. Blinking confusedly for a minute to take in his surroundings, he realized momentarily that he was in his own room, in his own bed. "The date," he muttered. "What's the date?" Flipping on the lamp on his nightstand, he tore open the top drawer and reached for the swimsuit calendar he kept there to keep his parents from finding it. A glance told him it was Friday, the seventh of September, and the glaring red light display on his alarm clock told him it was 4:47 A.M. Relieved, he tossed the calendar unceremoniously back into the drawer and elbowed the drawer shut. "OK, Mike," Mike scolded himself, rubbing his eyes as he recalled his dream, "no more overdosing on Mountain Dew and watching Robin Hood at 2 in the morning. You wind up dreaming about running around in a green costume with a sword, fighting a…" he realized he could not fully remember what he had been doing in the dream. "Fighting a… giant… thing, with… tusks," he sputtered as he struggled to recall the dream. Already his memory of it was fading.

"Well, whatever it was," Mike grumbled, "it wouldn't do much good to go back to sleep now. I'd just have to wake back up in two hours." Turning his lamp slightly so that it's beam shown more directly onto his bed, Mike reached over the side and picked up his English notebook, his pen, and his walkman cassette player. "Thank God for Don Henley," Mike said as he sat back up with his shoulders against the headboard, threw one leg over the other to provide a surface for his notebook and pushed 'play' on the walkman. Turning the volume down to a suitable level for background noise, Mike looked down at the notebook, and the returned and graded poem assignment stapled to the front page of it with a large, ugly red 'F' at the top.

"Failed to meet assignment criteria," Mike read the note his teacher scribbled in the same red ink at the bottom of the page. "The assignment was to write about your summer vacation, Mike. I'm sure your summer was exciting, but I fail to see how this poem has anything to do with it." Mike sighed. Since the teacher had called the poem 'well-written, for his age,' he had given Mike one chance to do it over, fulfilling the assignment this time. _Well, I'd better get started now, since it's due today in second period._

"Nobody on the road," Mike found himself singing along with the walkman, "Nobody on the beach. I feel it in the air, the summer's out of reach" Closing his eyes for a moment, Mike let the song take him back to the middle of the past summer, to a beach on the south edge of an island half a world away. Instantly, a smile formed on Mike's face. For a fleeting moment, he found himself there, on that familiar stretch of beach in the early morning hours. Standing beside him was a smiling Princess Mica Argo, fishing pole in her hand, with Mike's arms stretched over hers as he guided her through a cast.

Then the moment passed.

Mike was back in Seattle, and his homework wasn't getting any closer to being finished. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his assignment. "I can't wait to get back to that island next summer."


	2. Chapter 2: The Dragmirian

Chapter Two: The Dragmirian

_June 18, 1990_  
_Earth orbit; __altitude 87 miles and falling_

Zoda's claw rent the air scant inches above Mike's head as he fell to the metal floor and Zoda stumbled off-balance. The swipe would likely have cut Mike in half were it not for the force of yet another explosion rippling through the ship somewhere beneath him, disrupting both combatants. Sweat poured off Mike's forehead in rivers, obscuring his vision, as he struggled to fling the Super Nova between him and an unending series of blows from his foe. Each swing took more of his rapidly dwindling strength than the last, while Zoda, seemingly untaxed by the few minutes of combat, continued his assault with ever-increasing ferocity. Mike was losing. He knew it. And if he didn't think of a way to turn the tide of the battle soon no one but his Uncle would ever even know how he died.

"Young fool," Zoda rasped, his voice betraying what Mike guessed was the closest thing to sympathy the monster knew how to show. "Do you see now, as you stare into the void, how foolish your pitiful rescue attempt has been?" Mike's Super Nova caught him in the lower thigh, drawing blood but little else as the desperate boy thrashed about. "But take some solace from the fact that your death will be one most blessed."

_Somehow, I'm just not hurting him enough,_ Mike thought as he ducked underneath another of Zoda's swings and slid between the titan's legs, not stopping to risk an attack as he emerged behind Zoda and ran full-speed along the edge of the room closest to the ship's interior. The stress of the fiery reentry had caused portions of the floor to break away and the exterior edge of the room now featured a large area where one could only cross by jumping on the pylons that formerly held the floor up. The price of miscalculating such a jump would be a fall into the cavernous depths of what Mike guessed was the cargo hold, and he didn't feel like chancing it. Reaching the other side, Mike turned around and readied his Super Nova for another swing, expecting to find the nightmare creature right behind him. Instead, he had to jump to avoid being hit by two purplish projectiles, fired from the opening in the front of Zoda's belly. Sailing underneath their intended target, the pellets impacted with a sickening splat on the room's far wall, causing the metal to crackle and sizzle as they did.

"Why did you come here, boy?" Zoda asked as he calmly approached Mike along the same path the boy had taken. "What do you gain from this? You have your Uncle already. After all, he's of no further use to me. And the Argonians are nothing to you."

"The Argonians are dead," Mike answered. "At least that's what you claim."

Zoda froze for the briefest of moments, apparently surprised, before laughing his piercing laugh again. "Then you have no idea what those cubes you're carrying are, do you?"

"Something that I don't plan on letting you have, you alien scum," Mike screamed. Zoda was getting closer, and Mike somehow doubted he could stall the alien by getting him to keep talking.

"If you only knew just who you were dying for," Zoda said in that same grating, reptilian voice. "But no matter, no matter. As I've said, your death will be a blessed one." As he spoke, Zoda lowered his head and opened his mouth wide, vomiting forth a squirming mass that looked to Mike like spaghetti covered in snot. As the mass began to move toward Mike ahead of Zoda, he recognized it.

_It's one of the somethings-with-feet. UGH! Is that where they came from? _Giving no further thought to how the hellish thing came into the universe, Mike used the Super Nova to expediently take it out of it. It was likely not a consequential victory, but the satisfying squeal it let out as it fell over the precipice to its death gave Mike renewed confidence in the face of his ever-advancing enemy, reminding him that the things on this ship indeed could die. Screaming, Mike flung the Super Nova harder than he had yet, catching Zoda full on the side of his massive head, knocking his head to the side from the force of the blow and leaving deep cuts running down the side of the grisly face. Zoda, barely taking notice except to turn his head back forward, advanced one final step before making a low swipe with his great claw, catching the boy in his grip. His four fingers caught Mike under his left shoulder, his two thumbs under his right, leaving Mike's arms struggling to free himself as the Super Nova slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor below as the monstrosity lifted him closer to its face. Mike stared in dismay at the weapon, lying useless on the floor, his heart sinking to the ground beside it. It was over. Zoda had won. Terrified, the teenager turned his face back toward that of the beast that had been his undoing.

Zoda's eyes burned into Mike's, as though by staring at Mike for the few moments he had to spare the creature could appraise the very soul of his defeated foe. "In a way, I envy you, Terran," he snarled after a few moments of silence, moments in which Mike realized that there was no way he could break Zoda's grip by strength. "Death comes to us all," Zoda carried on, seemingly delirious from the Super Nova blow to his head. "But your death will be in orbit of this!" He waved his free hand wide, as if a panoramic view of the exploding chamber were somehow inspiring. "Earth! Chaos-Home!" As Zoda continued, Mike couldn't help feeling that this was the closest thing he would ever hear to his Last Rites, and they were being read by an alien monster suffering from head trauma. _Not in my nightmares did I think it would end like this,_ he lamented, _but it's going to. _Resigning himself to his fate, Mike let his hands fall to his side…

…where his right hand brushed against the static pistol in his belt. Slowly, hoping against hope that Zoda hadn't noticed him reaching for the weapon, Mike tugged slightly on the butt of the pistol.

"Yes," Zoda continued almost dreamily. "I almost wish our places were reversed, Terran."

"Your wish," Mike spat, his voice rising with every syllable, culminating in a shout, "is my command!" Before Zoda could react, Mike pointed the static pistol along the arm that held him above the ground, putting the muzzle just a few feet from Zoda's face, and squeezed the trigger once, then twice. Instantly a high intensity field of electrostatic energy erupted forth, reaching its maximum power in the creature's open mouth. Screaming, he dropped Mike to the ground, clutching his face, barely able to see as his optic nerves burned out like a blown fuse.

Mike wasted no time to celebrate the moment. Picking up his Super Nova once more, he began to bombard the alien with it, each blow landing more squarely than the one before. Screaming in pain from the wounds left in his face, slashing madly at empty air as he tried too late to land a fatal blow on his now-unseen enemy, Zoda began to back away.

And that, was exactly what Mike wanted.

Mike's best batting swing connected with Zoda's knee, shattering it and leaving the monster limping as he tried in vain to retreat. Zoda shrieked as the spikes of the Super Nova dug into his chest, his arms, his throat, all with a fury that the boy had not seemed capable of moments before. He raised his massive arms to shield himself from the flurry of blows, but Super Nova's chain wrapped around them, causing the ball to slam into the side of Zoda's head three times as it wound tighter. For an instant, with Mike unable to swing the weapon again, Zoda saw his chance to regain command of the situation, but Mike was ahead of him. With a mammoth tug on Super nova's chain, the unbalanced giant fell to the ground, and Mike with him.

Both fighters lay there for a few moments, neither having the strength to rise. It was Zoda who attempted to rise first, but he could not force his destroyed leg to lift him, and his other could not support his bulk. Then, whether by adrenaline or sheer unwillingness to die, Mike rose, pulled Super Nova free, and looked down at Zoda. The 'Prime Invader,' the destroyer of Argonia, and his uncle's captor…

…lay dying in front of him.

"Forgive me," the beast spat purple blood as it spoke.

Mike stared back, hatred burning in his eyes. "Forgive you? You wiped out an entire-"

"Forgive me," Zoda screamed louder, and Mike began to doubt the demon was talking to him. "Ancestor! Forgive my failure!" After this, he went silent, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

"Well whatever your Ancestor is, sweetheart," Mike sneered as he clutched the Super Nova in preparation for the killing blow, "give it my love when you see it in Hell." Mike swung the chain over his head, bringing it down in front of him with all the strength he had. The cudgel followed suit, crushing the monstrous skull. With a final, repulsive twitch that ran throughout his body, Zoda died. Mike, standing over the slain destroyer of Argonia, coiled the weapon around his belt. Bending forward, propping his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath, he attempted to focus. He had only one thing left to do. "Now, to find that third cube" he said with resolve, "and get back to reality before this rust-bucket crashes and burns."

_September 7, 1990  
__St. Helen Preparatory Academy; Seattle, Washington_

It was a proven fact that during the five minutes preceding the lunch bell, a rip opened in the space-time continuum within the walls of any high school and slowed time down to a near standstill. Every student learned this early on at St. Helen Prep. Mike had known this as early as seventh grade, so he was not surprised to find himself staring at a clock with an hour hand inching tantalizingly close to twelve for what felt like ages. He was equally unsurprised to find Mr. McPherson, his history teacher, still droning on about the Olmec Civilization (a subject Mike knew more about from listening to his uncle than he would ever learn in school) with less than five minutes left, showing no signs of being near a pause. What surprised Mike slightly was when the office secretary cracked open the door. The class cringed. They all knew how McPherson hated interruptions.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mister McPherson," the secretary said in her soft soprano voice, "but do you have Michael Jones in your class?"

"Great," Mike muttered. "This isn't going to be pretty."

"Why, yes," McPherson replied nasally, looking over his glasses and down his nose in the direction of the door, making no attempt to hide his disgust at the interruption. "What of it?"

"He has a visitor in the office."

"Oh, does he?" McPherson turned his eyes back in Mike's direction. "And, the nature of this visit?"

"A Doctor Ambrosius, sent from Doctor Argo's office for a follow up," she answered. "He says it's in regards to Micheal's recent case of Island Flu."

Mike, hearing the entire conversation, grew confused rather quickly. The only time he had ever heard of 'Island Flu' was when his Uncle told him that he had used it as an excuse for Mike's week-long disappearance from school, and he never recalled meeting a doctor named Ambrosius. Argo, on the other hand, was a name he knew quite well. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, Mr. Mac," he lied as he gathered his books and began making his way toward the door at the front of the classroom. "I'm supposed to meet with him today. It's, uh, y'know, medical stuff, all really technical. I know, I should have given you some kind of note or something…" by this time he was at the door and was on his way out, "…to warn you about the interruption. Sorry, I just…" the secretary closed the door. "Okay," Mike sighed. "I managed to avoid him chewing me out for interrupting his class."

"Congratulations," mocked the secretary. "This way, please."

Mike said nothing else as he followed the Secretary to the office. If he had thought of anything to ask, it would have just been drowned out by the noise of students pouring out of classrooms on their way to the courtyard as the lunch bell rang. _Great. Why couldn't this 'visitor' have come some time when it wouldn't cut into my lunch?_ As the two reached the school's main office, Mike saw at the door, facing away from him, an elderly-looking man wearing an impossibly garish indigo three-piece suit, with his full mane of white hair tucked under a matching derby. He also carried a matching indigo briefcase, and it looked as though he had a thick white beard that hung to his knees. Only out of sheer shock was Mike able to keep down a fit of hysterical laughter. Still, he felt like he recognized the man.

"Here he is, Doctor Ambrosius," the secretary announced and the visitor turned around to face Mike. It was then that Mike realized where he had seen him before.

"Uh, wha… Mer-"

"That's _Doctor_ Merv Ambrosius, my boy," answered the indigo-suited man, whom Mike now knew to be Merlin. "And why so surprised?" Looking up at the secretary now, Merlin smiled. "Could you allow me a moment to speak with Mr. Jones in private?" Without waiting for an answer, Merlin motioned for Mike to follow him into the school foyer. Once there he put down his briefcase and, with a brief glance around to make sure no one was within earshot, turned to Mike, his expression becoming concerned. "Did you finish it?" He asked.

Mike, still attempting to take in the events of the last few minutes, stuttered. "Uh, did I… uh, what?"

"The book, Mike. The book!"

"Yeah, I did," Mike replied. "Well, mostly. I got back to the present."

Merlin sighed, relieved. "Then you haven't opened to the final chapter yet?"

"That's the thing, Mer. I didn't know that little ninth chapter was there until Dr. J pointed it out to me Monday. And no, I really don't plan on going back into that book. I mean, why the Hell would I want to? What's left? I found the tetrads. Are you telling me there's more?"

Merlin wrung his hands and looked away. "I wrote that book for two reasons, Mike."

"Aha!" Mike announced, pointing an accusing finger at Merlin. "I knew it! You made that thing! You put me through that nightmare! I don't get it, Mer. You can time travel, and you're a way more powerful psychic than me."

"Psionic," Merlin corrected. "The word is Psionic, not psychic."

"Fine," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "You're a way more powerful psycho sonic what-the-freak-ever than I am. Why didn't you just gather the tetrads yourself? Why write a magic book that forces someone else to do it?"

"I could have. That's certain," Merlin answered. "But I should think you'd be grateful. After all, if I'd gathered them myself, I could have easily taken them to C-Island at the exact moment when your uncle opened the temporal stasis cubes you rescued. The Argonian survivors would have been reunited with their leader then and there."

"Yeah," Mike countered, "which would have been a lot less heartache for all concerned. Why should I be grateful?"

Merlin turned back toward Mike, a knowing expression on his face. "You would never have gotten to spend your summer getting to know Mica then, would you have?"

Mike opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish. "I… Well, no. And, well… but, I mean… dude, that's not cool."

Merlin smiled, but it was a distant smile, filled with covered sorrow. "Trust me, Mike. Introducing the two of you has been one of my goals for a long time: one of many. It's important to me." He turned his eyes skyward, and Mike had the distinct feeling the old wizard was looking toward the place in the sky where Argonia would be if the Southern Cross were visible from the Northern Hemisphere (and if the ceiling weren't in the way). "It is important to me, and it would have been important to my father."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Okay, like I keep saying: why?"

Merlin, resisting the urge to remark about Mike's obsession with the twenty-fifth letter of the alphabet, looked back at Mike and smiled the same knowing smile as before. "We're getting off topic, m'boy."

Mike placed his hands on the side of his head as if trying to force a headache not to come over him. "Mer, I still don't quite get what the topic is, but that's okay. For right now, though, I have something you've just got to try. It's something that must not have been around in Camelot, but it's massively in style here in the twentieth century. It's called 'making sense.' It's where you say something that means exactly what it sounds like, instead of talking in loads of mystical crap all the time. It also goes really well with this awesome thing we've got in the modern world called 'giving straight answers.'"

Merlin took a deep breath, apparently bracing himself for Mike's reaction to what he was about to say. "As I said before, Mike, I wrote the _Oxford Wonder World_, and I had two purposes in mind."

Mike motioned with his hands for Merlin to go on. "You told me that. I'm still foggy on what two purposes though."

"The first is obvious," Merlin answered, pausing to nod at a pair of students walking past. Once they were out of earshot he continued. "It was to create a means for someone to gather the Tetrads. The second is somewhat a result of the first. You see," he looked squarely at Mike, "It's the ninth chapter that presents a problem for me."

"Okay Merlin," Mike said wearily. "I can see that you really, really aren't getting this whole 'making sense' thing."

"I have a unique perspective on the future, Mike," Merlin responded, beginning to pace in a circular pattern in front of Mike. "And on the past as well. I know what's been happening for ages, and what will continue happening in ages yet to come. Unfortunately, I lack the power needed to do anything about it. I fear what I've seen, Mike." Merlin stopped pacing and began twiddling his beard again. "I've known for ages that I would need to find someone stronger: someone who, like me, wields the Argonians' gift, but who has more of the warrior in him than me. And so, I used the tetrads as a test: a sifting device, if you will."

_Okay, great,_ Mike told himself. _So now he's Centauri and I'm Alex Rogan._ "I'm waiting for the part where this starts having something to do with that ninth chapter. Or," he gave an exaggerated shrug, "maybe you'd rather start by explaining what this 'champion' you're looking for has to do with me."

"Because," Merlin glared at Mike, gritting his teeth to keep from snapping at the sarcastic teenager, "I knew that the one who could decipher the incantation, go through the first eight chapters, and recover the Tetrads would be the only one strong enough to complete the ninth and final chapter."

Mike could not help but notice the added emphasis Merlin placed on the word 'final.' "And what makes the ninth chapter so freakin' important? And if it's so important, why is it so short?"

Merlin's reply was instant. "It's short because it's the only chapter whose ending hasn't been written yet. As for the importance, think about it. Have you ever wondered what Zoda's reason was for picking Argonia?"

Mike shook his head. "I never bothered wondering about a megalomaniac's reasons."

"He wasn't just a megalomaniac, my boy." Merlin waited a moment to let Mike's mind catch up with the information he was giving him. "Argonia was his first target. And until Earth, it was his last. That's fairly single-minded for a wandering conqueror. Wouldn't you say?"

"So, what are you getting at?"

"The ninth chapter, Mike, has a great deal to do with Zoda's reason. For example," he stepped closer to Mike and lowered his voice slightly, "have you ever wondered who Zoda worked for?"

"Himself," Mike answered. "He didn't have anyone to answer to, Mer. He-" Mike stopped short and gasped, remembering Zoda's final words. _Ancestor! Forgive my failure! _"My God," Mike whispered, taking a staggering step backward.

"Not _your _God," Merlin corrected. "Zoda's. And rest assured that when you open that book you're going to meet him face-to-face."

Mike stared at Merlin the same way he remembered Zoda staring at him on the ship, trying to stare past his eyes and examine his soul for deeper meaning.

"And if you think, as I'm certain you do, that I'm just an old lunatic," Merlin interrupted Mike's focus, "then just scan my surface thoughts."

Mike blinked. "Scan… what?"

"You're a psionic, Mike," Merlin reminded the youth. "You have the same gifts that Mica and the Argonians had."

"Yeah," Mike grumbled, rubbing his eyes, "don't remind me. Look, I haven't had time to work much on this stuff. Just…" he decided to change the subject. "Mer, what's that ninth chapter really about? What are you getting me into?"

Mike caught a brief flash of pain in Merlin's eyes before the wizard looked away, his hands twisting the ends of his beard. "You, Mica, and Zoda were all three involved in it before you were born, Mike, just because of your bloodline. If that weren't enough, you've gotten further involved by…" the old man stopped himself, biting his lip as if to keep from telling a guarded secret. "I'm just giving you and Mica a chance to face it together, and with others."

"To face WHAT together?!"

Merlin let go of his beard and looked back at Mike. "A war that has raged across the universe since Earth and Argonia were both burning cinders in space, Mike."

Mike froze, awaiting the rest of the explanation. However, it never came. Finally, he laughed. "You're joking, right? I mean, you expect me, an average ordinary everyday guy who plays baseball for a prep school, to get involved in something that's been going on longer than my planet has been around, and you won't even tell me what? That's crazy! I'm no hero, Mer."

"You saved the Argonians, Mike."

"By accident!" Mike was screaming at this point, and a few students were beginning to poke their heads around the corner to see what the fuss was about. "It's not that I regret it, Mer. And believe me, I'd love it if there was a way to see Mica again, but I I'm not Captain Kirk! Besides, Mica is home on Argonia. She's safe, she's been through enough, and she deserves better than to have me drag her back into something that sounds like it should've died with Zoda!"

Merlin, noticing several heads peering around the corner and into the foyer, glared at them and telepathically delivered a simple message with enough force to terrify a rabid lion. _Go away!_ As the students, as terrified by Merlin's first entrance into their minds as Mike had been by Zoda's first entrance into his, began to scatter, Merlin looked calmly back to Mike. "Mica is far from safe, Mike. And whether you believe it or not, you're a hero."

"A hero? Fine." Exasperated, Mike threw down his backpack and began rifling through it. Finally, he drew an old, worn baseball which he held up in front of Merlin's nose. "You see this? This is the heroism of Mike Jones. This is what I do. I don't save planets, I don't kill alien warlords. I pitch, Merlin. I do _this_! And _this_," he turned and pointed out the window to a crowd of students on the school's front walkway, "makes me _their_ hero. That's it! That's all! I never asked," he pointed his finger forcefully into the sky, "to be _their _hero!" Fuming, he stood there in silence for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Merlin. You're looking for Conan or Superman or something. But me?" He pointed to his chest for emphasis and shook his head. "I'm just plain old Mike Jones."

After an even longer silence, Merlin sighed. "Your path is already set before you, Mike," he said, picking up his briefcase and opening it up enough to reach his arm into it. "You can't change it. If you try to run, destiny will hunt you down, as it always does. Your only choice is whether to face it alone, or with friends. And as for that," he drew his hand out of his briefcase and tossed Mike a green, metallic cube about the size of a baseball. Mike recognized it immediately. It was the third Argonian cube, the one he'd had to kill Zoda to get to, and it had once contained the trapped essence of Princess Mica Argo. "This," Merlin pointed his finger at the cube, and then into the sky in a reflection of Mike's earlier gesture, "makes you _her_ hero." Zipping up his briefcase, Merlin tipped his derby hat and walked away. "Oh, by the way," he called over his shoulder, "when you do open that book, make sure Mica is with you." With no further comments he walked out the front door of the school, disappearing in a glimmering burst of light as he crossed the doorway.

Standing there in the foyer, too stunned to move or speak, Mike stared down at the cube in his hand with tears he lacked the strength to shed beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. He barely even noticed when the bell to end lunch rang.

_Argo City, Argonia_

"So, let me make sure I understand you, _Hirocon_," said a ragged, disheveled Argonian man with a bandage over one eye, "if that's even who you really are. After Zoda hit the capital, you had this miraculous revelation about why he was wiping us out, and by the way, I'm still waiting to hear that part of the story. Then, you sealed your daughter and these six other children," he motioned to the seven children gathered behind Hirocon, "in temporal stasis in matt-en conversion cubes and stowed them away in an auto-pilot escape pod. Am I right so far?"

The eyes of a cavern full of Argonian survivors turned toward the cave entrance where Hirocon and the seven children stood. "That's correct," Hirocon answered without hesitation.

The other Argonian nodded his head and went on. "And these children: they were all from the aristocracy, right? I mean, it wasn't like you just grabbed the first seven children you could find and gave them a desperate chance for survival."

Hirocon bristled at the implication of that remark, but backed down. He had known for twenty years that he would have to give an explanation at some point. "Also correct. The seven were carefully chosen."

"And then," the Argonian continued, unwilling to lose his momentum by responding, "you launched every escape pod in the capital, completely empty, as cover for that one, dooming the remaining population of the last Argonian City to die in Zoda's invasion. Meanwhile these seven Aristocrat children made their way to a planet on the other side of the galaxy."

Mica, who had been standing silently beside her father the entire time, finally spoke up defiantly. "That's unfair! How can you-"

"You're right, kid," the man with the eye bandage interrupted. "It does sound pretty damned unfair. Especially because the last thing he did was seal himself away in a specially designed matt-en conversion cycle which, if I'm hearing this whole cock-a-mimmy story correctly, was split into eight parts by an old friend from this same distant planet and scattered across that planet's history. Am I getting this so far?"

"Yes," Hirocon answered. "As we've been trying to-"

"And now," the man was practically shouting at this point, "you've been rescued from stasis by a teenage boy from that same world. You've all returned to the present and to Argonia to boldly rebuild the society you abandoned, and you expect everyone to just fall in behind you just because you're from the royal line?" He shook his head slowly. "Y'know, you're lucky I don't believe your little story, or else I'd be inclined to kill you right here and right now for cowardice."

"I don't expect anyone to 'just fall in,'" Hirocon retorted. "But I've returned, and brought the seven children with me, to rebuild Argonia. If you can't believe anything else I've said, believe that. Just believe that we're trying to pick up the pieces of our world."

The man with the eye bandage said nothing.

"We just want our home back," Mica added pleadingly.

At that, the man laughed. "Well," he held his arms out wide. "Here it is, the same wasted hole it's been for two decades now. Help yourself to any cave you like, but this one is ours!"

"What happened after the capital fell?" Hirocon took the wheel of the conversation once more.

"By the sisters, where have you been living all this time?"

"I just told you."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Just humor me, damn you!" The sound of weapons being drawn by the Argonians assembled behind the man made Hirocon think one moment too late that a more civil approach might be more effective.

"I don't know who you are, stranger. No, don't bother," the man raised a hand to stop Hirocon's response. "I don't want to hear it again. But whoever you are, this is Old Argo City, and we have claim on this Goddess-forsaken patch of dirt. So go find your own."

"We can't," Hirocon said flatly. "We don't know the city anymore."

"Well, then you have a problem," the bandaged man snapped. "But we have more than enough of those on our own, and we can't be bothered with outsiders."

"How can you call us 'outsiders?!'" Mica cried out, quieting the two arguing men. "We're Argonians, just like you! We're survivors of Zoda's massacre, just like you! You say you've been through Hell these past two decades? Well so have we! But we're trying to rebuild," she softened her voice, barely. "Just like I think you are. And yet you would rather fight us over the scraps Zoda left behind?" She let the last hang in the air for a long moment. "If you represent all that's left of Mother Argonia then go ahead. Kill us. It seems you'll be doing us a favor."

There was silence: silence in which it seemed the man was going to draw his weapon and grant Mica's request.

At length, Hirocon decided to try and ease the tension a bit. "What's your name, sir?" Hirocon asked the man.

The man snorted derisively. "My name?"

"What should we call you?"

After a long silence, the man answered. "Moraigne. Moraigne Delvan."

For the briefest of moments there was a flash of recognition in Mica's eyes, but it passed unnoticed. Nodding, Hirocon slowly stepped toward the man until he was within arm's length and extended his hand. "Alright Moraigne, you seem to be in charge here. Am I right?"

Moraigne looked around the cave and sighed, relaxing his guard only slightly. "Yeah, I guess you'd say that."

Hirocon smiled wearily, hand still extended. "Well then, as a man who understands what it is to look out for his people, let me make my appeal to you. We're eight wandering survivors who have just arrived here. We have no food, no shelter, and you're the first Argonians we've seen since the fall of Argo City.

"Don't buy it, Moraigne," called one of the Argonians inside the cave before Moraigne could take Hirocon's outstretched hand. "Look at their clothes. They're too clean to be survivors."

"Let's kill them now before they call the cult," suggested another. "They've got 'Zoda' written all over them."

"Zoda's dead," Mica ventured, stepping again out from behind her father.

Moraigne laughed darkly. "That's a big claim for such a little girl."

"I tell you, he is," Mica refused to back down. "Our rescuer killed him."

"Oooh," Moraigne turned back toward the assembly with a mocking smile. "She says she knows the guy who killed Zoda. How about that?"

"I killed Zoda," mocked an Argonian at the back of the cavern.

"So did I," shouted another.

"I killed him twice," noted a third. "What about you, Moraigne? Haven't you killed him a few times?"

"Yeah," Moraigne laughed. "Come to think of it, I think I have."

"This isn't a joke," Mica hissed, her face turning purple with rage. "I'm telling you-"

"Oh, we believe you," Moraigne assured her, turning back toward her with the same mocking grin. "Trust me, that's one part of your story we can believe."

Hirocon rippled his brow in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow."

As Moraigne turned to Hirocon the mocking grin gradually gave way to genuine disbelief. "Geez, you people really don't know anything, do you?" No one said a word, so Moraigne sighed and explained. "Killing Zoda isn't tough. Killing _all _of Zoda, now there's the trick."

"What do you mean?" Hirocon asked.

"I can't believe I'm standing here explaining this," Moraigne muttered before continuing. "He's a psionic: an incredibly powerful one. So powerful, in fact, that if he can make physical and mental contact at the same time with someone he can imprint his own mind onto theirs. He replaces their memories with his, their mannerisms with his, basically rewriting their personality as a copy of his own, and that's with just anyone he finds. With a willing subject, he can…" his voice trailed off.

"He can do what?" Mica pressed on, eyes narrowed as realization began to come over her.

Moraigne continued. "With a willing subject his impression is so strong that he even superimposes his own psionic power onto them. Essentially, he makes them into another Zoda. Different body, but same mind and most of the same power."

Hirocon stared appraisingly at Moraigne. "And just how do you know this?"

"We're wasting time, Delvan," shouted one of the Argonians. "You know the rules. If they can't prove they're not cultists-"

"I know the rules, Codren," Moraigne said over his shoulder to the interloper. "And if I decide they're cultists, then we'll deal with them like cultists." He turned his eyes back toward the eight. "And I don't buy this whole 'escape pod' story, but…" he exhaled sharply. "Well, they definitely need help."

"There's something wrong with this, Moraigne," insisted the one Moraigne had referred to as 'Codren,' stepping forward out of the crowd to stand beside Moraigne. "Seven clean, well-fed, well-dressed people we've never seen show up out of nowhere led by a man who claims to be Hirocon Argo, expecting us to just take them in?"

"Seven _children_, Codren." Moraigne shot back. "I think the cult could do better."

"Excuse me," Mica's sardonic tone cut through the debate. "I'm sorry to interrupt your little tete-a-tete, but I'm starting to feel almost like I really am an outsider here. What cult?"

Codren and Moraigne both froze. Codren, turning toward Mica in annoyance, stepped away from Moraigne and toward the eight. Sensing trouble, Hirocon stepped between Mica and the advancing man. The two men were almost nose-to-nose before Moraigne spoke up. "Whoever they are," he addressed Codren, "they're either dumber than a patch of spitter scrubs or they've been living in a cave longer than we have."

"Or they're just better liars than the cult has had before," Codren muttered before locking eyes with Moraigne. "Do what you think best, Delvan, but our blood is on you if you're wrong."

"Thanks for the friendly reminder," Moraigne spat. As Codren walked away, Moraigne looked back toward Hirocon. "You're question's the easy one to answer. I know Zoda can do that because everyone in here has seen Zoda do it to a friend of theirs at one point or another, and most of us have had to fight and kill those same friends later, complete with Zoda's ceremonial garb."

Mica nodded, recalling something she'd heard from Mike right before the tetrads were reassembled about fighting three Zodas during his time-travelling quest. "What about the cult?" She urged. "What's that about?"

Moraigne chuckled. "You mean to tell me you don't even know who Zoda is?"

Mica took a step back. "Zoda? Cult? I don't-"

"Think, little girl! Doesn't the name 'Zoda' remind you of something else? Of some_one_ else?" Mica stared back at him blankly, and Moraigne sighed. "Zoda," he went on, "as in Zodanorv Drekmyr."

There was a collective gasp of horror mixed with revulsion from the seven Argonian children. Only Hirocon appeared unshaken. "The Dragmirian," whispered Naberra, one of the two who discovered the cave.

"The Seed of Hellswine," added Daru, the one who had been with Naberra.

"W… wait," Mica argued. "If that's true, then Zoda's army is the Dragmirian Cult. Then that would mean Zoda…" the thought was so repulsive she found herself unable to finish it. Moraigne, however, did it for her.

"Yeah, it's true. The 'Prime Invader' was no invader at all. Zoda was Argonian."

_August 29, 236 A.D.  
__Camelot, Britannia_

_Time travel_, Merlin thought as he hastily shed his indigo suit and derby hat to reveal the more familiar robe of the same shade, _certainly has its inconveniences. _He tossed the suit onto a coat hanger (a delightful device he could scarcely wait to see invented so the rest of the world could use them), and departed his modest hut for the castle of Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons. The aged wizard was keenly aware that at this very hour he was also elsewhere in Camelot, explaining the mystery of the Tetrads to a boy from the future. _A boy who, if my Great-Nephew did as I asked, can now introduce himself as 'Sir Micheal of House Jones, Knight of the Round Table.'_

The inconvenience of this was the fact that the Merlin who was speaking to Mike at that moment had no idea he was also on his way to the castle, and he did remember that after speaking to Micheal, he returned to the castle. So much time had passed since that day. It was difficult for Merlin to keep track of the passage of time, since he criss-crossed its borders so often, but he knew he had lived almost a year since the day he revealed himself to Mike in the Dragon's Lair north of Camelot. _Of course, _Merlin mused,_ from the King's point of view this IS the very day Mike battled the dragon. And from Mike's point of view, he just saw me at his school, or should I say, he'll see me again in a week. Then again, since that week will see him returning to the year 1990… Gah! Forget it!_ History was a lifetime study for those who experienced it in the proper order, in one direction at one pace. For him to concern himself with it would be not only fruitless, but virtually impossible. He had only two things to worry about at the moment. One was making sure he did not run into himself. Or, at the very least, making sure he was not seen in public with himself. The other, was making sure he did not arrive at the throne room before he left the throne room. _Wait, don't I mean before the other me leaves the throne room? Blast it all, I'm getting far too old for this!_ Whatever the case, he needed to be sure his timing was perfect. Predestination paradoxes were always a great hassle, and he had no intention of dealing with one today.

Once Merlin reached the road leading to the castle, he found himself face to face with yet another inconvenience, riding up to the gate from the opposite direction. _Gawain_, Merlin frowned as he recognized the knight. _What's he doing here? I thought he was out on some quest like all the others._

"Good day, wizard," Gawain called out. Much to Merlin's surprise, the knight pulled back the visor of his helmet in salute. "My eyes must be cheated by some witchery, for I would have staked my life that I just passed you on the North Road."

_Odd. He's actually civil today. And what does he mean by… Ah! Perfect! I've already left! _"The wizard sons of the Celts are ten for a copper," Merlin lied as the knight strode up alongside him, slowing his pace to travel evenly with him. "You probably saw one of my ilk." After a moment, Merlin took note of a peculiar adornment he had not seen on the young knight before. "I say, Sir Gawain, what's the meaning of that green baldrich?"

Gawain's chest swelled for a moment with pride, then subsided. "A reminder of a lesson hard-learned," he said cryptically.

Merlin slowed his pace slightly to look up at the knight. His eyes certainly did not have the same haughtiness to them as when he had embarked on his quest months before, and he bore a scar Merlin did not remember: a scar on the side of his neck. All this, combined with his unusually humble demeanor, made little sense to Merlin. Suddenly, something in the back of his mind recalled seeing the sash earlier, on a different knight, and the wizard smiled. "Then you met the elf once more?"

Merlin expected Gawain to grow tense, but the knight barely reacted. "My honor is satisfied," he replied, "and I look forward to sharing a table with my king and my fellows once again."

Merlin sighed. "Well, the king will be just as pleased to see you return, to be sure. Your fellows, however, you'll have to wait for. They're out on quests of their own, all."

Gawain looked at Merlin in disbelief. "The entire Round Table? Praises be that Camelot hasn't come under some threat."

Merlin huffed, tugging at his beard. "As for that, Camelot is indeed under siege. It seems a dragon survived the Roman purge, and it has awakened in the North Cave."

"A dragon?!" Gawain yanked on the horse's reins so forcibly that the animal reared onto its hind legs. "This cannot be allowed! In Arthur's name, I vow that it shall die." The youthful warrior had already turned his horse and was about to dig his heels into its sides and gallop away toward the north before Merlin was able to speak.

"Peace, Knight!"

Gawain froze. "Speak quickly, wizard. Every minute lost-"

"No minute will be lost," Merlin interjected. "And be assured, the dragon will die. His Majesty has sent his newest champion to slay it."

Gawain turned back toward Merlin, interested. "What champion is that? By your own word, aren't my fellows all abroad?"

"They are," Merlin answered, "but the King has dubbed a new lord into his circle." _At least I _hope_ he knighted the boy._

"Hmm," Gawain grunted. "Has his Majesty forgotten? Only those of Pendragon's line can be knights, by his own edict."

Merlin started to correct Gawain, but stopped himself. "This man is of Pendragon's line, a descendant of Sir Jonas."

Gawain grunted again. "I know not this Jonas."

"Oh," Merlin replied. "Well that's because…" Merlin caught himself before finishing '…he's your oldest son, yet unborn.' "The records of his birth were lost when the cursed Romans withdrew," he quickly recovered. "They've been recovered by the Royal Historian." That seemed to satisfy Gawain's curiosity, and the two began walking again in the castle's direction. "By the way," Merlin chimed as they walked, "I believe you forgot something a moment ago."

"Oh?" Gawain's eyes never left the road.

"There is a knight not descended from Pendragon."

"Yes," Gawain growled. "A man knighted before that edict." The knight's chainmail gloves creaked as the links rubbed tightly together in his tightening fist. "Forbid it that I should question my king's decision in granting knighthood, but I should find my honor under strain if my liege handed down an edict requiring me to respect that Frankish pig, Lancelot."

Merlin bit his lip. Truthfully, he was not any more fond of the arrogant Lancelot than Gawain was, but the knight's remark brought to mind stories Merlin remembered his father telling. Stories, Merlin recalled, of a world across the stars, of the sword _Eshca-Leboor_, and how it had slain many a monster before being brought to Earth…

…stories of a devil named Dragmire, the Hellswine.

"Please Gawain, such contempt," Merlin said in a low voice. "I can scarcely dispute your sentiment, but 'pig' is not a word I assign to a man lightly."

_September 8, 1990  
__Jones Residence; Seattle, Washington_

Dennis Jones peered around the corner and down the stairwell cautiously, searching for any sign of the mysterious bump that had awakened him. Someone was downstairs it seemed, and there was no reason for anyone to be in his living room at 2:30 in the morning. He considered for a moment calling the police. _No,_ he corrected himself_. If it's a burglar, there's probably no time. Besides,_ _let's not overreact. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just the blasted cat. _Just to be sure, he craned his ear toward the stairwell, not even drawing a breath for almost a minute. He heard nothing. _Yeah_, he decided, turning to walk back to bed. _Just the cat._

_Creeeak… slam!_

Dennis jumped. That wasn't the cat. Of that, he was certain. It sounded to him more like…

…_Like the Home Entertainment Center cabinet being opened and slammed shut_._ Someone is down there looking for something._ Nervous now, Dennis returned to his bedroom and quickly walked toward the nightstand beside the bed, affording himself a moment's time to open the drawer slowly enough not to wake his wife, and grabbed the revolver hidden there. After fumbling around for a few more seconds in the drawer, Dennis's hand wrapped around two bullets, which he swiftly and deftly loaded into the weapon before striding out into the hall again. Slowly, pointing the revolver ahead of him, he tiptoed down the stairs. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the T.V. coming on. _What? what kind of thief stops to…_ Then he heard the crunching noise of someone snacking, and the reason for all the noise became annoyingly apparent_ A relief, but an annoying one no less_. His teenage son was sitting there on the couch, still wearing the black denim jeans and black shirt he had worn to school that day. "Mike," he called out irately, lowering the gun, "what in blue Hell are you doing up this late?"

"About to watch one of these _Star Trek_ tapes," Mike answered from the couch, stuffing a generous handful of popcorn into his mouth as he completed the sentence. "_Charlie X_, if you're wondering."

"Ah," Dennis commented appreciatively, now standing at the base of the stairs with the revolver held at his side. "The one with the psionic boy in it."

"Yep," Mike answered, eyes still glued to the screen. When he finished chewing his mouthful he explained, "it's my new favorite episode."

"I see," Dennis yawned as he approached the couch. "I was always partial to _Space Seed_ myself. You know, the one with the _sleeper_ ship in it," he said, placing heavy emphasis on the 'sleep' syllable.

Mike shrugged, devouring another mouthful of popcorn as the previews began. "Yeah, well sleep isn't exactly…" he stopped in mid sentence as he glanced toward his father for the first time during the exchange and his eyes fell on the revolver. "You know, dad," he said calmly, regaining his composure quickly as the initial shock of seeing the weapon passed, "I know it's after midnight and all, but don't you think that's a little severe?"

"That sarcasm of yours is going to get you in trouble one day, son," Dennis scolded, laying the weapon down on the coffee table in front of the couch. "And that's here because I thought you were a prowler. Anyway, scoot over and make room."

"No prob," Mike said agreeably, scooting to the middle of the couch to allow his father a seat. Dennis lowered himself onto the couch, and the two stared at the screen for several minutes, silent except for the crunching sound of Mike feverishly ravaging his bowl of popcorn.

_It may be impromptu, _Dennis decided, _but this might be a good opportunity. _"You know, Mike, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"'bout what, dad?" Mike asked half-interestedly.

Dennis shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I just haven't really gotten to sit down and talk to you since… well, since early June, really. You know, what with your vacation, and then off-season training, and the sudden interest you've taken in Steve's work. I just thought since we're here, this might be a good time for a little father-son chat."

Mike's reply was delayed, due to the effort of chewing on still more popcorn. "Cool," he finally said, picking up the remote control and turning the volume down by two clicks. "Course, the question's still the same. Whaddaya want to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know. Baseball, your vacation, school-"

"School was a bummer today," Mike interrupted, holding up a crumpled sheet of notebook paper.

"What's this?" Dennis asked curiously, flattening out the paper. At the top, a giant red '_C-_' was marked, followed by the words '_Jones, I give up_' in the scribbled handwriting of a teacher. Looking farther down the page, Dennis discovered it consisted only of four short lines of prose, if they could even be called that.

_Roses are red,/ Violets are blue./ Baseball rocks/ And my summer did too._

Sighing, Dennis handed the paper back to his son. "Mike, I know you can do better than this."

"I did better than that," Mike countered defensively, "and the teacher wouldn't take it."

"Then why didn't you try to write something like that other poem, but actually write about your summer this time?"

Mike bit his lip. "I dunno," he said quickly, looking away.

"Oh, I think you do know."

Mike said nothing.

Dennis Jones did not have to be a psychiatrist to know when his son was hiding something._ Still, I'm not going to get anywhere by pushing the issue. Maybe a different approach will work. _"Mike, just out of curiosity, what _are_ you doing up at this hour?"

Mike looked confused. "What's that got to do with poetry or my summer?"

Dennis shook his head. "Nothing with either. But you don't seem to want to discuss either one, so I thought I'd let it go." He let that hang in the air for a few moments to try and get his son to lower some of the emotional walls. "And don't get me wrong," he assured Mike as he reached into the bowl in Mike's lap and grabbed one of the last remaining handfuls of popcorn. "I love a late night movie as much as anyone. I just don't think you woke up just to watch one. Talk to me, Mike. What's on your mind?"

"_Space,_" the television set interposed. "_The final frontier._"

Mike snickered as the introduction went on and the title theme played. "Well I guess I fell asleep at my homework desk and couldn't stay asleep in that hardwood chair all night."

"Nice try, Slugger," Dennis chided. "But you fall asleep there all the time. What's got you up and about at 2:30 this time?"

_He's good, _Mike admitted to himself. "Dad, you have no idea how bad I wish I could tell you the whole story. But…" he shook his head, several half-formed answers almost escaping his lips. "I had a dream."

"A nightmare?"

"That's the thing, dad. I really don't know what you'd call it. I was…" he closed his eyes and laughed. "No. It's stupid."

"Uh-uh, no," Dennis interrupted. "Don't give me 'it's stupid.' I'm a psychiatrist. Dreams are about sixty percent of my job. What was this dream about?"

Mike raked his hand along the bottom of the bowl, scooping up the last popped kernels and stuffing them into his mouth. "I'm not going to get out of this one, am I?" He asked between chews.

"Nope."

"Fine." Mike swallowed the mouthful, placed the bowl on the coffee table, picked up the remote and paused the tape. "First off, I really don't think I was really me in this dream."

"How do you mean?"

"Just a feeling," Mike answered distantly. "A strange feeling of being someone else. And I had a sword: a huge sword with a blue steel decorative handguard, and runes on the blade. They said something, but I can't remember what."

_Rather detailed for a dream, _Dennis noted. "Go on."

"Well, I remember this sword was important somehow. And it had a name." Mike shut his eyes tightly as if by doing so he could keep the memory closed inside his mind. "Esh… Escha… I don't know. But it was supposed to help me destroy something: something terrifying." Mike shuddered visibly.

_I don't think I've seen Mike this on-edge about a dream since he was a small child. _"And can you tell me what that was?"

"Well, I was fighting someone huge, like a monster or something. It had these huge tusks, like a wild boar, and these creepy eyes," Mike's eyes glazed over as he continued. "Eyes like Zo…" Mike stopped himself.

_Aha! Getting warmer. _"Eyes like what?"

Mike shook his head as if forcing himself back through a dreamy haze into the real world. "Eyes that reminded me of someone I met this summer, and it's someone I'd rather forget."

"Ah," Dennis smiled, leaning back onto the couch and muttering to himself. "I see. And your mind attaches the traits of this someone onto… yes. Yes, it makes sense. Tell me," he crossed his hands in his lap. "Did this monster have a name?"

Mike shuddered visibly. "I heard someone call it Dragmire. It might have been me that said it. I mean, not me, but whoever I was in the dream."

"And this person you met this summer, whom you'd rather forget," Dennis nudged. "This 'Zoe' that you hoped I wouldn't notice you mentioning: does the name 'Dragmire' have anything to do with him or her?"

Mike thought for a long time before slowly and deliberately shaking his head. "Dad, I really don't think you understand-"

"Just hear me out. Does it?"

Mike shook his head again. "None that I know of."

"Hmmm… how did this dream end?"

"Well, I fought this thing for the longest time, and finally killed it."

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Killed it?"

"Yeah, with the sword. I hamstrung it, and once it fell I stabbed it," Mike's voice grew faint. "Right between those creepy red eyes."

Dennis frowned. _That might just be his way of laying the unpleasant memory to rest, and I suppose that's healthy. On the other hand… _"Mike, have you ever had a dream like this before?"

Mike rubbed his forehead. "Now that you mention it, I had kind of the same dream last night, but in that one I think the monster started off being human."

"Human?"

"Yeah. A tall guy wearing black armor, with those same eyes."

Dennis sighed deeply. "Mike, I think you should get some rest. But we should probably talk about this again in the morning." With that, Dennis stood up, picked up the revolver off the table, took the bullets out of it, and started for the stairs.

Mike sat on the couch, watching his father walk back upstairs, not moving until he heard his parents' bedroom door close. _He thinks I'm crazy,_ Mike thought gloomily. _Dr. J. would believe me, but he wouldn't be able to help. He's good with facts, but not stuff like this. God, what am I supposed to do now?_ As he was about to hit the 'play' button on the T.V. remote, a thought occurred to him: Mica. _But can I reach her this far away? I've never been able to speak telepathically to anyone but Dr. J, and that was just across the room._ Mike reached his hand into his pocket and drew out the green cube Merlin had given him at school, the alien device that had once contained the energy pattern of Mica Argo. Even after sitting in the pocket of his jeans all day it felt cool to the touch. Mike let the fingers of his right hand brush gently against it as he held it in his left. Mike knew even as the thought entered his mind that it was ludicrous, but he felt like he could hear her laughing as he touched it. _It's worth a try,_ he told himself and reached out with his thoughts as sincerely as he could, sending his desperate plea as far out into the universe as he could and praying Mica would sense it.

_**Mica, can you hear me?**_

* * *

A voice from afar awoke the High Priest from his meditation. It was not the voice of spoken words, but the voice of thought. It was a small voice, filled with doubt and fear, but it still managed to carry across the stars, and clearly enough to disturb the High Priest's meditation. Curious, the High Priest stretched out his thoughts into the universe around him, seeking the source of the voice. It did not take long to find it. _What? No_, the High Priest clenched his fists in denial as his mind zeroed in on Earth, the tiny, remote world…

…_where a Priest Lord of Dragmire met his death. This must be the boy he spoke of in his final transmission. But why? Why call out across the universe when Mica is right there on your world? Unless…_ Reaching out again, the High Priest felt after the voice's recipient. It took as little time to find her as it had to find the voice, and the answer shocked him. _She's back! She's here! Only Hirocon was strong enough to return from so far away. _That could only mean one thing: the three Priest Lords sent to complete the job the first one found himself unable to do had also failed. On the other hand, if Hirocon and Mica had returned to Argonia, then so had Mica's six companions. _Praise the Ancestor, _the High Priest rejoiced, _This could prove advantageous._

**_Mike?_** came the hesitant reply. **_Is that you?_**

It was Princess Mica Argo. That much was undeniable. She was here, within the High Priest's grasp. _Only now, _thought the man who had been born Zodanorv Drekmyr, the true High Priest of Dragmire, _There's no escape pod, no conversion cubes, and no planetary defenses. This time, Princess, you and your companions are mine. _Zoda savored the reality of this new development. It was only a matter of time now, and very little at that.

Mica's blood would fall upon the Black Altar.

Dragmire would live again


	3. Chapter 3: Once and Future

Chapter Three: Once and Future

"Mica?" Mike called aloud in his excitement as the princess's response echoed across space. He chided himself a moment later for the outburst, realizing his father was likely still awake, and refocused his thoughts. **_Oh, awesome! It worked!_**

Mike could feel a glimmer of mirth that he felt must have been a chuckle from Mica. **_Yes, apparently it did. You're using telepathy, right?_**

_**Right.**_

_**Wow! I didn't think you'd master it this quickly. And to reach Argonia, that's… that's impressive, Mike**_.

Mike spared a moment to think of one of his signature cocky responses, but decided instead to cut to the chase. **_Yeah, surprised me too. Listen, Mica… I need your help._**

**_My help?_**

**_Yeah._** Mike hesitated. He had not thought this far into the conversation. For, as desperate as he felt his need for answers was, he had not truly believed himself capable of reaching a listener on the opposite side of the galaxy. _**The thing is, it's kind of tough to tell you what with.**_

A distant sense of foreboding scratched at the corners of Mike's mind. **_It doesn't have anything to do with Zoda, I hope._**

If a telepathic thought could be formed that was equivalent to a dumbfounded blank stare, Mike felt sure he would have broadcast it at that moment._** Mica, Zoda's dead… isn't he?**_

_**He's supposed to be, but…**_ the outside sense of foreboding grew more intense for Mike as Mica found herself unsure of what to say. **_Well, if it isn't Zoda, what's wrong?_**

A few moments of consideration offered Mike no subtle way of asking what he had to ask. Steeling himself for a response he felt sure he would regret hearing, Mike fired the question like his best fastball. _**Does the name Dragmire mean anything?**_ In the silence that followed, Mike feared for a brief time that his connection to Mica had been cut. **_Mica?_**

**_M… Mike, how can you know that name?_** Mica's delayed answer was laced with such tangible trepidation that Mike felt himself shudder, despite complete ignorance of the cause.

**_Just tell me what-_**

_**Mike, HOW did you hear that name?**_

**_Whoa! Mica,_** Mike tried to calm Mica's nerves. **_Calm down. Can you just tell me who or what it is?_**

Again, Mica waited before forming a response. **_Mike, I promise I'll tell you, but you have to let me know how you could possibly have heard of Dragmire first._**

_Well then, now for the crazy part_, Mike thought, wondering briefly if Mica could read the thought as they spoke this way. **_I've been having this… I guess you'd call it a recurring dream lately, Mica._** Mike began to tell the whole tale of the battle between the green-clad dream-warrior who Mike both was and was not, wielding the sword Escha-Something-or-Other against something called Dragmire, the great tusked, Zoda-eyed behemoth that had once been a man. Mica 'said' nothing, but he could feel her mingled horror and denial mounting as the tale went on. **_And so, there it is. Now, the way you reacted earlier tells me there's something important about this Dragmire guy, and I'd love know what to expect on the midnight creature-feature, since it looks like it's going to be playing on the 'Mike's Dreams' channel._**

_**I can't give you anything that you'll believe,**_ Mica lied, and Mike could tell even across the gulf between them that she was groping for an excuse not to answer. _**Besides, I don't want you to be, what's the term, 'freaked out.'**_

**_I think fighting Zoda was the point of no return on both of those subjects. Just please tell me what's going on._**

_**Dragmire is… well, kind of a boogeyman out of Argonian children's stories, Mike,**_ Mica finally answered. **_We hear about him when we're small children, and then we learn the myths about him when we're a little older. Finally we grow up, and… well, we pretend they aren't true._**

_**Pretend?**_

_**Well, we-**_ Mica cut herself off in the middle of a thought. _**Mike, I have to go. I'm sorry.**_ And she was gone.

"Mica, wait!" Mike lost his focus and shouted, earning several irate thumps on the floor from the upstairs bedroom, but no response from Mica. Sighing, Mike sank back into the sofa and muttered, "disconnected."

_Later the Same Day  
__Argonian Crash Site; South Seas_

_This temple has changed very little in almost two-thousand years_, Merlin noted as he traversed the tunnels where, as he now knew, Mike had been reunited with his uncle and learned of Argonia's plight two months before. _The structure hasn't deteriorated so badly, all things considered. _An unnaturally colored purple and black cobra emerged from its lair underneath a fallen brick pile, slithering toward the aged wizard with equally unnatural speed and ferocity, only to be burned to a crisp by a focussed blast of psionic energy. _And I see some of its defenders survived as well. A pity they missed the one they were put here to guard against. _

Merlin's decision to return here had not been made lightly. The temple held far too many painful memories for him. They were memories of a burden laid upon him two thousand years before by his dying father, of Pendragon, his father's other son (it had been some time since Merlin had found it in him to call Pendragon a brother). They were memories of the argument that led Pendragon to abandon his father's mission and return to the distant Roman province of Britannia. _Memories,_ Merlin pondered dolefully, _of a childhood stolen by the cruelest of fates: the fate of being born the son of the Chosen of Eshca-Leboor._

Still, the task before Merlin could not be put off forever, even by a time-traveler. After giving himself a lengthy lecture on the twin dangers of procrastination and indecision, Merlin found himself nearing the heart of the temple. A row of identical statues lined the North wall of the partly flooded cavern where he now found himself, and Merlin eyed the stony sentinels cautiously. He had been a small child when he had last seen the temple, and he had to admit the years had taken their toll on his memory, but he was quite certain that amid the blended Roman and Polynesian architecture there were elements of traditional Argonian design. His father had been careful to include that remnant of home, and one thing he remembered his father telling him about the Ancient Argonians was that their statues had the aggravating (and dangerous) habit of getting up and chasing after anyone they didn't like. True, most of the easily excitable statues appeared to have been destroyed by the last person to pass through, but it was best to be on guard just in case.

Apparently, though, if there were any statues among the rank that were more than that, they found Merlin inoffensive, for they seemed content to remain at their posts as Merlin approached the passageway that led to the next cavern. It was the cavern that housed an Argonian treasure that predated the Argonian or Human species, a relic which Merlin's father had warned him would, in the wrong hands, be the deadliest weapon ever wielded. _And he would know, because it was the power that brought him to Earth, and Dragmire used it against him before that. Only, it will be worse if Zoda did indeed get his hands on it, because Escha-Leboor lacks much of its former power in its present form, and it's not likely that the weapon or the boy are up to the task of fighting Dragmire's true heir. _Merlin's path turned sharply north, forcing him to walk uncomfortably close to the eastern flank of the monolithic guards. In a few moments, if he remembered correctly, he would enter into a wide-open chamber with two more of the mammoth statues watching over the burial shaft of the Relic.

The path, as expected, opened into a wider chamber, but Merlin frowned as he beheld the room. It was bathed in sunlight from a recently formed hole in the cavern roof, and a massive chunk of twisted, melted metal sat in the center of the room, markedly incongruent with the stone construction of the temple. As Merlin approached the mass, he recognized its nature and despaired. _It's the escape pod. And if Zoda extracted the cubes from the pod, that means he came this way, and that means it's likely that he stumbled onto the Relic. The question is, where was the damned thing again? I thought this was the chamber, but the burial chamber had… _Then he saw them: two more of the same gargantuan statues that lined the previous room's north wall. They stood with their backs to the wall of this chamber, exactly as he remembered, with their eyes focussed in front of them, where the burial shaft of the Relic should have been.

And the escape pod was right on top of it.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Merlin laughed. "Sweet Providence," he chortled, tossing his coned hat into the air and catching it again. _Zoda probably looked right at it and never realized what was buried immediately underneath it. The stone that marked it would have to have been crushed by this thing, and if Zoda sensed any ambient energy he probably just chalked it up to the latent psionic powers of the children. _Just to be certain, he approached the pod and reached out with his senses. There were still traces of horrific visions left, burned into the very air by the presence of the Argonian refugees. They would likely haunt the temple for centuries to come, screaming into the mind of anyone with psionic senses to hear them. Shuddering from the flashes of thought and nightmarish sights half-seen, Merlin forced his consciousness through and around them, feeling after the Relic. Finally, he found a glowing radiance half-buried by the mind-echoes of the Argonians, just as the Relic's resting place was buried by their vessel. The Relic was there.

_And it's resonating._

The Relic was pulsing with a supernatural glow, far outshining what Merlin remembered seeing when he watched his father lay it to rest here almost two millenia before. It was trying to get the attention of someone, Merlin realized: someone, or something. Merlin reached deep within his mind for the strength to push past the glow and focus on the Relic itself, and he saw what was causing the glow. The Relic was angry. It had sensed its two counterparts drawing near. It had known that it would soon be whole. But the one who approached of the other two had been a mere facsimile of the bearer of the other two, and it would not allow itself to fall into such an unworthy grasp. It had not and would not reveal itself to such a one. Still, it knew that its counterparts were together once more, and its time was drawing near. It called to them, and they to it…

Merlin pulled himself away from the Relic, wrenching his mind free of it. He had forgotten about its corrupting voice, the voice that would swallow a heart whole and replace it with its own dark image if allowed to do so. He had forgotten that it had a mind of its own, and a will to go with that. Worst of all, he had forgotten what the Relic longed for above all else. "It's trying to reassemble." somehow, giving the thought utterance made it that much more terrifying. "And the other two are already together? That means…

"…Holy Sisters, help me. Zoda has both the other pieces!" As that truth fell upon him like his own dirge, the wizard felt himself nearly fall to his knees. "I have to talk to Mike. It's worse than I knew." Merlin took a moment to consider the Relic. Was it safe to take it with him? Could he resist its corrupting influence? Faced with the thought of Zoda returning and finding it, he decided he would take the risk, as well as the Relic. With a flash of psionic force, Merlin was gone, praying he had not dawdled for so long that a two-thousand-year-old mission had failed. For the time-traveler, time was finally running out.

_Steven Jones' Lab; Seattle, Washington_

"Finally," Doctor Jones muttered as he penned the last line of the cipher's translation. Looking up from his desk for what felt like the first time since his return from C-Island he slid his glasses off of his face, leaned back in his chair, and ran his palm down the front of his face. "It's all in English. The bad news is it still doesn't make any sense." The archaeologist took a look over his cluttered desk, his office strewn with papers he would eventually have to pick up, and his laundry piled unceremoniously in the corner of the room. "Good Lord, Steve," he complained. "How long have you been at this anyway? Pouring over this gobbledygook all day, barely eating, barely sleeping, never leaving the lab, if you keep this up much longer you're going to end up talking to yourself." With that pearl of wisdom he stood up, stretched, and walked to his tiny kitchen for what he considered to be a well-deserved meal of microwavable soup, saltine crackers and Diet Coke. As he turned the timer on his ancient microwave to a minute and a half, he walked toward the kitchen's window and looked out.

Doctor J's lab was on the ground floor of a four story building, and didn't offer much in the way of a view, but the morning sun shone down with enough radiance to make the sight refreshing. Besides that, it was the first time he had bothered to look outside his lab for as long as he could remember. "You're killing yourself, old man," he scolded himself. "You're working yourself to death. Coming up on fifty and still single, and when was the last time you took a vacation anyway? Yeah, Steve, life is passing you right by, and you're still crawling around in the dirt trying to dig up the past, trying to bring it back to life somehow. And for what?" He took a deep, sorrowful breath and exhaled wearily. "It's all in the name of science. At least, that's what you tell yourself, because that makes it seem like you have a cause, like you have a purpose. But the fact is you're just doing it because you can't think of anything else to do. Oh, sure, it's gotten you acclaim, but what's going to become of all those placards and certificates? Dirt. That's what. They'll wind up being dug up in a few centuries by someone else who'd rather dig in the dirt and deal with that past than get up and face the present. Meanwhile, what's going to happen to you, old man?" _Ding,_ went the microwave, and Doctor Jones chuckled darkly. "Time's up."

With the box of saltines tucked under his arm and his drink in his right hand, he removed the steaming bowl from the microwave and started toward the 'living room,' which was actually a moth-eaten couch, coffee table and T.V. on the side of the office opposite his work desk. Allowing himself the usual moment to grumble about the cramped conditions in the lab, and comment on how superior his C-Island facility was in every way, he placed the bowl on the table in front of him. "Well, no sense worrying about that now," he mumbled as he ripped the pack open, dipping one of the crackers into the increasingly appetizing soup.

He got the morsel halfway to his mouth before the doorbell rang.

"I swear, when I open that door," he shouted at the uninvited guest as he dropped the cracker into his bowl of soup, "I had better see a drop-dead gorgeous Harvard graduate who's a devoted follower of my work and has an I.Q. of at least 165! D'you hear me, whoever you are?" Having voiced this demand, the middle-aged genius got up and opened the door to find Mike standing on his doorstep.

"Will a studly, brown haired, freckle-faced ace pitcher with a B Plus average do?"

Doctor J 'harrumphed' loudly. "If you're such a 'stud,' then when is the family going to meet the future Mrs. Mike Jones?"

"Probably some time after the present Mr. Mike Jones does," Mike quipped. "And you're starting to sound like my dad. Mind if I come in?"

"Hmm. Let's see. Do you fulfill a single one of those-"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"Come in, come in," Doctor J laughed. As Mike stepped into the office, closing the door behind him, Doctor J took the opportunity to inquire further about the nature of Mike's visit, using one of the boy's recent comments as a starting point. "So, Dennis is still giving you the old 'you're fifteen now, you should be dating' lecture, eh?"

"Actually," Mike corrected, "now it's the 'you're _sixteen_ now, you should be dating' lecture."

"Ah. You do know he has a point, right?"

"You're one to talk, Unc."

"Touché," Doctor J winced as he took his previous seat on the couch and fished a half-disintegrated cracker out of his soup. "So your dad is pestering you, and you decided to get away by coming and pestering me. Is that it?"

"Yeah, basically."

"Ah. Very well then, commence pestering."

"Cool! Thanks," Mike hopped over the back of the couch, took the seat next to Doctor J, leaned his right elbow on the back of the couch and propped his head up on his right hand. "I will. How goes the-"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'cipher' you'll drive home drenched in the contents of this bowl."

"-Translation process, Uncle Steve?"

Doctor J wagged his finger at his nephew. "You're good," he confessed between chews. "And to answer your question, it's translated. At least," he dipped another cracker into his soup and devoured it before going on. "It's in English now. I'm not sure the word 'translated' really applies to it."

Mike's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Whaddaya mean?"

"It's total poppycock. That's what I mean. It's some kind of garbage about the 'resting place of the triple power,' and a 'great hero who wielded something called the sword-that-was-king.' Oh, and this 'hero's' name is apparently translated as 'last in a reborn chain.' The thing is, if I'm translating right, all that garbage was the escape pod's destination."

Mike shrugged. "Okay. Why's that so hard to believe?"

"Temporarily putting aside the fact that it all sounds like something out of a fairy tale, there's this. Didn't Mica specifically say Hirocon sealed the seven in the cubes and sent them to Earth, using the exact words 'to Earth?'"

Mike nodded.

"And this makes it quite clear that Earth was their intended destination."

Again Mike nodded.

"And does any of that baloney that I just spat at you sound remotely like Earth?"

"Well, I guess not, but-"

"There you have it. At the very least, the cipher is false. Besides," Doctor J crunched down the last cracker in the pack, crumpled up the plastic and tossed it at a trash can a few feet away. "According to the cipher this 'hero (who, let me remind you, is supposed to rest on Earth)' is credited with saving Argonia before."

Mike raised one eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure what he saved it from. The word wouldn't quite translate."

"What word?" Mike asked as he opened the next pack of crackers in the box and helped himself to a dip of Doctor J's soup.

"Eh, Argonian phonetics are a little confusing, but I think it would have been pronounced 'Drogmeer.'"

Mike coughed to keep from choking on the half-chewed soup cracker. "You don't mean 'Dragmire?!'"

Doctor J put down his soup and stared at Mike. "Yes, that might be it. You've heard that word before?"

"Yeah, kind of often lately," Mike answered, pounding his chest with his fist to dislodge the last bits of saltine from his throat. "You mean that cipher on the side of the ship says something about him?"

"Him? It's a person?" Uncle and nephew stared blankly at one another for a moment. Then, simultaneously, they both vaulted over the couch and shot toward the Doctor's work desk, where the translation of the cipher lay scattered across the surface. "Mike, tell me everything you can about-"

"Let me see the part that talks about Dragmire, Doc. And where's-"

"-Dragmire. I want to know where you heard of him, what his significance is to the-

"-this part about the sword-that-was-king? Because that sounds familiar too. And-"

"-Argonians, and why a story about him would be written on the side of a-"

"-who's this 'reborn-chain-hero' guy? I need to-"

"-refugee ship, since… Okay, STOP!"

Mike stopped.

"Rewind," Doctor J commanded. "We were sitting on the couch."

"Yeah," Mike nodded.

"And I mentioned Dragmire."

"Yeah."

Doctor J waited for a moment, then added, "and that's the last coherent thing I heard."

"Yeah," Mike admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Me too. Maybe I should just read what you've translated and we'll go from there."

Doctor J nodded his head soberly. "Yes. That sounds like a good idea."

_Jones Residence; Seattle, Washington_

Dennis Jones knocked loudly on his son's bedroom door. "Mike," he called out. "Are you there?" There was no response. "Mike?" He knocked again, but still there was no response. "Mike, come on out. I told you last night that we need to talk." Still no response. "Mike, this is ridiculous," Dennis said as he opened the door and walked in. The rest of his speech was cut short, however, since no one was there to hear it. Mike, it seemed was missing. _Probably got up early to head over to Steve's, AGAIN. I'm going to have to do something about this. It's fine for him to spend time with his uncle, but for them to have gotten this close this summer, after having never met before, and for him to just avoid his parents like this is just not normal or healthy. _Dennis was about to close the door, pick up the phone and call his brother for a long talk, but stopped himself just before the door clicked to. True, he felt the need to address the issue of Mike avoiding his parents in favor of his uncle, but the previous night's events made it clear there was something else, something deeper, going on in Mike's head.

Dennis opened the door again, only slightly, and peeked in. _A sixteen-year-old boy should have a certain degree of privacy,_ he told himself. _But if this gives me some insight into what my son is hiding from me…_ To Dr. Dennis Jones, that unfinished notion settled it. The end quite justified the underhanded means, and so the door swung open again, allowing Dennis Jones a look around his son's room. It was tidy, as teenagers' lairs went, Dennis noted as he stepped inside. The floor was clean, with the exception of a mountainous pile of wadded up paper balls in a corner whose location led Dennis to believe there was a trash basket buried somewhere underneath them. The walls were decorated, but not covered, Dennis noted, with posters of baseball heroes whose names rang no bells in the psychiatrist's mind. The closet floor was dotted with the pervious week's complement of laundry, as Mike's usual practice was not to pick it up until he did laundry at the end of the week. Nothing seemed to Dennis to be outside of what one would expect from a teenager's room.

_Okay, I'm here. Now where do I begin? Think, Dennis. Where did you hide things from your parents when you were sixteen?_ His eyes swept over the room several times before settling on the nightstand beside the bed. _I wonder,_ Dennis mused as he approached it and opened the top drawer. A spiral-bound notebook labeled "English 3 Rough Drafts" lay in the bottom of the drawer. Just to be thorough, Dennis picked it up and thumbed through its few remaining pages. They were empty. _Odd. Where are the... ah, of course._ His eyes returned to the paper-ball sculpture of Mount Everest in the opposite corner. He was about to drop the notebook back into the drawer when a flash of color underneath caught his eye, and he looked to see what had been hidden underneath the notebook.

With a chuckle, he picked up the swimsuit calendar tucked away there. _Well, at least Mike's started noticing women. I guess that's typical for a boy his age. Besides, I was beginning to worry. _Giving the matter no further thought, Dennis dropped the calendar back into the drawer and placed the notebook on top of it.

With the nightstand having yielded no results Dennis continued his search of the room, checking under the bed, between the mattresses, any place he could think that Mike would place something he didn't want his father the shrink finding. _The problem,_ he was forced to admit halfway through the search, _is that I have no idea what I'm looking for. The only thing I have to go on is that it's likely something related to this summer. _With that consideration, the answer came to him. "Of course," he said out loud. "That's it. Why didn't I think of it before?" _Now think, Dennis. Where did Mike put that photo album his mother gave him to keep pictures from the trip? _It didn't take long to find. The overstuffed thick, green-leather-bound notebook was sitting on the desk that was supposed to be set aside for Mike's homework. Shaking his head at the incongruity of purpose, Dennis walked across the room to the desk, sat down in Mike's seat, and opened up the photo album.

The first few pages held very few answers for Dennis. They were, by and large, exactly the pictures he would expect to see. There was a Polaroid of Mike, proudly holding a fish that Dennis guessed was some kind of saltwater bass. Mike in the picture held the fish's mouth at shoulder height, and its tail was halfway between his waist and his knee. _Good size fish,_ Dennis noted. _That's Mike for you. _Another picture showed Mike standing on a rock outcropping over a harbor, with a building in the background Dennis recognized from postcards as Steve's island laboratory. On the back of that page, Dennis snickered at a picture of Mike, grinning broadly at the camera, with a girl on either side of him, one arm around each of them. His right arm was around the waist of an olive-skinned, dark haired island beauty apparently in her late teens to early twenties. The girl wore a camera-loving smile, a blue sundress and a shoulder sash reading "Miss Coralcola 1990." The girl caught in the embrace of Mike's right arm was also smiling, but a bit more modestly. She wore a red dress with gold markings around the hem and collar, with slightly more coverage than the one worn by the girl on Mike's opposite side. She was, Dennis noticed, surprisingly fair-skinned for an Islander, with hair a startlingly deep red and long, pointed ears.

Dennis did a double-take. _Pointed ears?! _Rubbing his eyes several times, he looked closely at the picture. It looked, for all he could see, like the girl on Mike's right did indeed have elfin ears. _No, no. It has to be some kind of flaw in the film._ Quickly, to avoid looking at the oddity any longer, Dennis flipped the page. Page after page went by, and Dennis started to recognize a few recurring faces among the people in the pictures, including the red-haired girl (although whatever fluke in the film made it look like she had pointed ears, it seemed to happen in every picture to feature her). Still more bizarre, though was the back page.

There were three photographs at the very back of the album, and Dennis found himself going over them repeatedly. One was clearly taken in poor light, but Dennis was able to make out a massive chunk of what appeared to be metal, apparently melted and then cooled again. The size was difficult to tell, but Dennis surmised it was likely larger than a house. Its only distinguishable feature was a flat surface on the side near the bottom, with some form of runes on it. _I'm no archaeologist,_ Dennis thought, stroking his chin, _but that's damned peculiar: Hieroglyphics on a metal slab? _The second was a group of seven children, all clad in maroon clothing. At the center was the red-haired girl that Dennis had spotted throughout the album, pointed ears and all, now arrayed in what he guessed was some kind of ceremonial attire with a light blue cloak. This time, however, she was not alone in her oddity. The six other children in the picture _all_ had the same pointed ears. _I don't believe it,_ Dennis thought, unwilling and unable to accept the message his eyes gave him. _We send that boy all the way to the South Seas and he STILL manages to find a Star Trek convention. _The third, the picture at the bottom, gave Dennis chills. It was Mike, smiling triumphantly, standing beside a lake of some kind with one foot perched atop what looked like a giant skull, with rotting chunks of flesh still hanging off of it. _The skull of a snake_, Dennis realized at a glance_. With the snake's body still attached and hanging in the water._ _And from the size of the skull, the snake attached to it must have been in the vicinity of a hundred and twenty feet! Good Lord, Steve! You never told me they had anacondas on that island! Why, those fangs are as long as Mike's arm! _A second glance at the picture raised a new question in Dennis's mind. _Wait, are anacondas even supposed to have fangs? _Dennis' concern about the snake, however, soon faded as he noticed what he considered to be a more disturbing facet of the picture.

Mike had something hanging from his belt in the picture: something that looked like a silver chain. Attached to the end was a ball, about three times the size of a fist, he estimated, covered in vicious-looking spikes. _My God, Steve, you let him have a weapon? And one like that?! He could have gotten himself killed messing around with that thing! _

"Mrrreeeee-_OWWW!_"

A shriek from the half-opened closet, followed by the sound of boxes crashing to the floor, distracted Dennis from his search. Acting on the instinct of a man in a place he knew he should not be, he spun toward the door, fearing he had been caught. A moment later he sighed, realizing the source of the noise. "Sigmund, you damnable feline pest! Scat!" He hissed at the family pet, causing it to flee down the hall in a blur, before he turned toward the closet. "Best to put it back the way it was," he mumbled, spotting the fallen cardboard box in the closet floor and the empty space on the overhead shelf where it had been. "I don't need Mike getting suspicious, especially since it's clear I'll already have to have a heart-to-heart with him." He said nothing of his intent to 'discuss' his findings with his brother, since it was too infuriating to think about the irresponsible archaeologist.

As Dennis neared the box, his eyes found themselves diverted to its contents. He chided himself for being so nosy, but something in the box kept catching his eye: it was a faint glimmer of silver. _Silver? No… no, it's impossible. _Praying he was wrong, Dennis reached into the box and wrapped his hand around the silver object. He felt the links brush together in his palm, he heard them clink together as he lifted the chain out of the box, and finally, his heart sank as he looked upon the spiked cudgel on the end of the chain. It was the weapon in the picture. Somehow (Dennis preferred not to think how), Mike had gotten the weapon through customs and brought it back to Seattle.

The mace was elegantly designed and ornate, and in spite of his abhorrence at the sight of the instrument of war, Dennis found himself looking over every inch of it. The entire weapon was surprisingly light, appeared to be silver, and felt cool to the touch: handle, chain and ball. The handle, which fit nicely in two hands, Dennis noticed, had ceremonial markings at the ends closest to and farthest from the chain. There was also a phrase written lengthwise down the handle in English letters in an archaic-looking script. "Eshca-Leboor," Dennis read slowly. "Hmm. Wonder what that means." A few moments of pondering offered no answers, so Dennis shook his head and moved on. His eyes traced the glimmering chain, guessing it to be about three feet in length, until they came to the ball on the end, with it's fearsome spikes. They looked as sharp as if the weapon had been crafted that very day, and yet, Dennis was shocked to find, they bore signs of previous use.

A purplish-brown stain covered four of the spikes on one side of the weapon. _Blood?_ Dennis thought. _No, no. Surely not. Mike couldn't_._ Or it must be from that snake… but the snake in the picture had been dead for some time. This came from impact with something still alive. _As Dennis tried to force the idea from his kind, a memory of his conversation with Mike the previous night resurfaced, refusing to be ignored.

"_I stabbed it… right between those creepy red eyes._"

_Please be wrong,_ Dennis allowed himself a fleeting doubt, in spite of his horrifying findings, as he inspected the spikes more closely. There was something the same purple-brown shade impaled upon one of the spikes, and he plucked it from its perch to examine it more closely. What he saw left little doubt that his first suspicions about the weapon had indeed been correct.

It was a shard of bone, covered in the same staining substance as the side of the mace.

"No," Dennis' voice caught in his throat as he dropped the mace and staggered backward. "No!" He wrestled with what he had seen, desperately searching for some logical explanation, but the more he thought, the more he remembered his son telling him of his out-of-character dream. Of a sword with runes on the blade, and a name like 'Eshca-Something.' Of red eyes…

…of someone Mike 'preferred to forget,' named Zoe.

There was no way for Dennis to avoid the conclusion. "I have to talk to Mike," he said forcefully. Scooping up the mace, and solidifying his resolve that one way or another he would find the truth, he briskly walked to his car and set off to reach his brother's lab.

_Argo City, Argonia_

_Coming here was supposed to calm my fears, _Mica moped as she watched Argonia's red sun send its first rays cascading over the horizon. The scarlet sunlight shone off the face of the misty blue waters, forming a rolling kaleidoscope of color. Mica, hardly noticing, leaned up against the shell where she sat on her first night back home and pulled her arms around her knees, bringing them up to her chin. _Big surprise, it isn't working. _A legion of worries marched around the Argonian heiress's mind, and her head ached from their thunderous footfalls. _First there's _Them,_ then it comes to light that Zoda could still be alive, and now Mike, still on Earth, has recurring nightmares with Zoda's god appearing in them._ She pulled her arms more tightly around her knees at the last of those thoughts. She remembered Mike telling her that Zoda once probed his mind. She could only surmise that some of Zoda's mind got left behind when that happened, and that explained the dreams. _Mike, I'm sorry. I truly am. I thought once you got back with the tetrads your ordeal would be over. I thought your life would return to normal once we left. That hope was the only reason why it didn't kill me to leave without telling you…_

That thought remained unfinished, and Mica buried her face in her arms, no longer able to keep from crying. "Mike," she sobbed. "I… I loved you. May the Sisters forgive me, but I loved you, and I still do." As bottled feelings mixed with tears poured out, a part of her wished Mike could hear her, while another part was grateful he could not. _I tried to fight it, _she reminded herself._ I refused to let myself fall in love, I forced myself to remember that I was promised to another, that my heart wasn't my own to give. But weeks went by, and the realization set in that my betrothed was twenty years dead. _"I didn't want him to be," she cried, barely audibly, "but when has it ever mattered what I wanted? The fact was that the man I was pledged to marry died with Argonia. At least, I thought he did."

"If it's any consolation, _Etanni_." Moraigne said sorrowfully from behind the shell, "I thought you were dead too."

Mica, lifting her head up, did not turn to face him. She had not heard him approach, but in her current state that didn't surprise her. "Oh," she said Icily, "now it's _Etanni_? First I was just a little girl making big claims, and now suddenly you remember?" Having delivered that remark, she turned to face him. The look in his one un-bandaged eye told her that the accusation had hit home.

For a moment it appeared that Moraigne was going to mumble an apology and quickly leave, but he remained. "I guess I had that one coming to me," he confessed, stepping beside Mica. "But I remembered you as soon as I saw you. If not, you and the others would have been shot on sight."

Mica stared daggers into Moraigne's eye. "Then what was that little song-and-dance back at the cave shelter?"

"I didn't think it was possible," Moraigne quickly replied, taking an uninvited seat beside Mica and staring out over the sea. "Twenty years have passed since then, and here you were, without aging a day? And then Hirocon-"

"_Regent_ Hirocon," Mica insisted.

"Fine. Then Regent Hirocon gives us that escape pod story? Could you blame me for not believing it?"

Mica softened slightly, following his gaze out to the horizon. As furious as she was with Moraigne, his argument made sense. "So what made you decide to believe it?"

Moraigne bit his lip. "The way you reacted when you heard my name was the main thing." He allowed silence to follow, giving Mica time to compose herself, before turning to face her and saying a bit sharply, "So don't be too hard on me for not believing it was you, 'cause you didn't even recognize me. Of course," he looked back out at the waves, "how would you?"

"So what now? What about us?"

Moraigne waited before answering. "There's no 'us,'" he said flatly.

Mica stared, open-mouthed. "So that's all? Just like that, everything-"

"I'd hardly call it 'just like that,' Mica," Moraigne snapped. "You seem to have forgotten, while you were nice and safe in that pod, I was stuck here, fighting to stay alive in this pit that Argonia's become. Do you have any idea what I went through, thinking you'd been killed in the onslaught along with everyone I ever gave a damn about? That wasn't easy to just forget about, but there was the little matter of deciding whether I was going to live or just die off with the rest of the world! Then Zoda left, and it got even worse! See, now, instead of Argonian survivors banding together to fight him, now we fought each other in gutters and alleys over the garbage that Zoda left behind. The loser died and was left there to rot, the winner lived to go through the same witless struggle the next day." He paused. "I've married, twice," he said at length. "And buried both wives in turn, along with a host of lovers since, and I won't bury another one."

Mica's head snapped back toward the sea. "So it's all in the past then."

"How could it not be?" He half-shouted. "Separate fates aside, little girl," he emphasized the phrase 'little girl.' "Twenty years have passed: twenty years in which I've aged… grown up, and you haven't. I'm sorry, Mica."

Mica's tears flowed freely again. When she finally spoke, her voice came out razor-edged. "Why did you come out here, Moraigne? Are you just that determined to make me feel worse?"

"Argonia's not the same place it was when you left, princess. It's dark, it's unforgiving, it's brutal, and feelings haven't had a place here for a long time. So forgive me if I've forgotten how to consider them. And to answer your question, I had to make sure you had no illusions. For that you can call me caring or heartless; the choice is yours. Frankly, I don't remember the difference."

"_Maybe you've forgotten how to feel, but I haven't!_" Mica stood up, shouting now. "Don't you care about that?"

"I don't know how you feel."

"Then just Read me, dammit! Read me. I won't try to keep you out."

"I can't."

"Oh, because you're afraid of what you're going to find? Afraid you'll have to face-"

"No, because I can't, Mica."

Even in the middle of the argument, Mica wrinkled her forehead, confused. "What do you mean?"

Moraigne stood up and took a few steps toward the city, then stopped, hands shoved into the pockets of his tattered, maroon trousers. "That's something else that's changed, Mica. The people have started losing their psionic power."

The simple statement might as well have been 'the sky has started turning plaid.' "How?"

Moraigne shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think anyone on Argonia does, but now that you mention it," he turned back around to face her, "it did start happening right about the time Argo City fell. That would be almost the same day you and the others left, wouldn't it?"

Mica narrowed her eyes. "If you're implying I had anything to do with it, or my father for that matter-"

"I'm not," Moraigne assured her, and neither one said anything for a long moment.

Finally, Mica spoke up. "Well," she said plainly, and a bit coolly, "I suppose we should return to the city. It's not safe to stay here very long with _Them_ onworld."

Moraigne snickered. "_Them_," he imitated her emphasis on the word. "You're afraid to even use their name. I'd almost forgotten how timid we were before Zoda came. If it's the 'Roids you're worried about, don't."

Mica cringed at the near use of the name 'Aparoid,' but made no issue of it. "You mean you've found a way to fight _Them_?"

Moraigne shook his head, snickering slightly at Mica's refusal to drop the over-emphasized pronoun before answering. "Nope."

"Then… then why shouldn't I worry?"

"We never had to fight them... I'm sorry: _Them_." Ignoring Mica's rolled eyes at his mocking, Moraigne explained further. "The whole hive just died, all at once. Or, I don't know, maybe 'shut down' would be a better way to say it."

"When?"

Moraigne made sure Mica's eyes were locked with his before answering. "Barely a week before you eight came back."

The implication was not lost on Mica. "So Argonians started losing their psionic power just after we left, and then _They _all died at once just before we returned," she repeated.

"Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Mica ignored his veiled accusation. "I have to talk to Mike."

_Steven Jones' Lab; Seattle, Washington_

_To preserve Argo's Kingdom, I, Regent Hirocon, do send the seven Heirs of Enlightenment forth from their besieged world. If the Sisters favor them, they will one day reach another world, from whence came my once and future friend who, like we of Argo's Kingdom, wields the Gift of the Hero of Destiny. On that world, the resting place of the Triple Power of Might, final home of the Hero of Destiny, the last reborn, One-in-a-Chain, who wielded the Sword-that-was-King against Dragmire to save Argonia in an age past, I will meet them. When one rises who is able slay the Seed of Hellswine and gather the seven fragments, the hand of my once and future friend will guide him to these children of Argo's Kingdom, and I will bring them home, but the Seed of Hellswine is too strong to face presently. I cannot defeat him alone. Not here, not now._

"So that's it?" Mike asked as he finished reading the translation of the escape pod cipher. "That's what's been giving us fits all this time?"

Dr. J. nodded. "The 'not here, not now' part is a clue, I think."

"How do you mean?"

"The Argonian for 'not here, not now,' is 'Oompa pamow-mow,'" Dr. J answered. "And if you'll remember the Oxford Wonder World, there was a note on the inside, which, when read backwards-"

"Launched me into the stone age, and that wasn't cool," Mike finished for him, making clear his disdain for the memory of the incantation. "Okay, so that explains that part. What's the deal with all these hyphenated phrases?"

Doctor J. frowned. "Those are parts I'm not convinced I translated properly, where one or two words translate into an entire phrase. I think they might be names."

"Like Indian names," Mike mused, rubbing his chin. After a moment, he tapped the words 'Sword-that-was-King' with his finger, a lingering question nagging at the back of his mind. "What's the Argonian for this?"

"Escha-Leboor," Dr. J answered, prompting a gasp from Mike. "Oh? Another one that you've heard somewhere?"

"Yeah," Mike answered. "In the same place that I heard about Dragmire."

Doctor J. crossed his arms and leaned against the armchair where he usually sat when working. "Well then, now that you know as much about the cipher as I do, perhaps it's your turn to shed some light on the subject."

Mike stared at the translation as he spoke, as though the presence of the half-solution to the months-old mystery of the Argonian cipher helped him recall the details. "You're not going to believe me, Unc," he warned.

Doctor J. snorted. "After last summer, try me. Give me some answers here, Mike."

Mike gave Dr. J the same explanation he'd given his father the night before. A few details began taking on new meaning in light of the translated cipher, but when he was finished, he felt that he still had more questions than answers.

"Well then," Dr. J removed his glasses and wiped them off on his shirt. It was clear he had hoped for something a bit more enlightening. "What does that leave us with?"

Mike shook his head. "I don't know, but for you to finish this translation the same time that I start having weird dreams about the same thing is heavy stuff. I don't think this is a coincidence, Dr. J."

"Agreed."

As it became clear that Dr. J had run out of both answers and patience, Mike turned to read the translation again. "Hmm. Wait a minute, 'from whence came my once and future friend…' and then 'the hand of my once and future friend.' It's the same words both times."

Doctor J. considered that for a moment and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I suppose it is. I suppose it's likely the same person."

"Another name?"

"No, it was an exact translation."

"It sounds familiar."

"Another part of your dream?"

"No, not the dream. More like something from… from…" Suddenly, Mike's eyes lit up. "From Junior High!"

Doctor J looked confused. "From Junior High?"

"Yeah, from Junior High! It was one of the books we had to read: The Once and Future King."

Doctor J nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off of Mike. "Yes, the phrasing is similar, but-"

"Doc, the Once and Future King was King Arthur!"

"I have a doctorate, thank you. I'm familiar with the book. I just don't-"

"Hirocon wanted whoever read this to think of King Arthur, and Camelot. Now think. Doesn't the whole 'once and future' part make you think of time travel?"

Doctor J's jaw dropped. "You don't think…"

Mike nodded, grinning proudly for having produced the answer. "The cipher is talking about Merlin."

Doctor J. donned his glasses once more and began scanning the text again. "It never occurred to me," he chuckled at the irony, "that the key to understanding an extra-terrestrial cipher would be to look at it from an Arthurian perspective." He clicked his tongue as a new idea came to him. "Although, now that you mention it…"

Mike waited for Dr. J. to finish his idea.

"Mike, when you went to Camelot, you said you met King Arthur, right?"

Mike stood up a little straighter. "Yeah. He knighted me, as a matter of fact."

"Mm-hmm. His sword: was it the same sword from your dream?"

"Huh?"

"You said in your dream you had a sword."

Mike nodded.

"And it was called 'Eshca-Leboor,' just like the sword referred to here."

Mike nodded. "Yeah. And now that you mention it, it was the same. How did you know?"

Doctor J. laughed again. "Look at the name, Mike. Eshca-Leboor. Say it quickly, with emphasis on different syllables, and tell me what it sounds like."

"_Esh_ca-Le_boor_," Mike muttered, humoring his uncle. He tried a few more combinations before hitting one that clicked. "Esh_ca_-Le_boor_… EXCALIBUR!"

Doctor J. smiled knowingly. "So what do we have now?"

"Then Hirocon knew, probably by talking to Merlin, that an Argonian Hero who fought Dragmire with Excalibur came to Earth," Mike's speech was quick and breathless. "And he sent the seven children (the 'Heirs of Enlightenment') here for Merlin to find a hero who would kill Zoda, find the Tetrads, and get the Argonians back together so they could go home."

"I think I've heard enough," Dennis Jones interrupted from the doorway, and both Mike and Dr. J. quickly jumped between Dennis and the table, attempting to hide the notes from view. Dennis's hands were behind his back, seemingly hiding something as he stepped across the doorway and into the lab.

"D… dad, hi," Mike forced the worry from his voice. "Look, this really isn't a good time. Why don't-"

"No, I think is a splendid time, son. I've found this whole conversation most intriguing indeed, and I'd like to be let in on it, and you can start," he drew one hand from behind his back and dangled the Super Nova from it, "by explaining this." With that, he dropped the mace to the floor.

Mike, hoping his father couldn't tell how nervous he was, concocted a quick lie. "Just something I bought down there in the tropics. That kind of thing's easier to get a hold of outside of the States, long as you have money. I thought it looked cool, so I bought it."

Dennis fired a look at his son that made it crystal clear he found the story unbelievable. "What about your dream?"

Mike's brow wrinkled. "What's my dream got to do with-"

"Escha-Leboor, Mike. Or," he donned a mocking smile, "should I say 'Excalibur.' You said it was in your dream."

"I still don't get it."

"Dammit Mike, I'm no fool!" Dennis was screaming at this point. "It's written on the handle!"

Both Mike and Dr. J's jaws dropped. "What?!" They shouted in unison.

"The inscription on the handle of this thing," Dennis pointed distastefully at the weapon at his feet, "is the same name you've been calling this sword." He held up quotation signs as he said 'sword.'

"Dennis," Dr. J. offered, "I understand this has to be-"

"Steve," Dennis pointed such an accusing finger at his brother that Mike feared for a moment that his father held the gun he'd carried the night before. "The best thing you can do right now is shut the hell up!"

Dr. J. looked stunned. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Dennis voice dripped with barely contained venom. "The only person I need to hear a response from is my son. And that having been said, come on, Mike. We're leaving."

"Dad," Mike interjected desperately. "Just listen. There's a lot you don't know here."

"I can see that, and that's what worries me," Dennis answered curtly. "But whatever it is, it needs to stop. I mean, look at yourself. You went on what was supposed to be a vacation and came back with Atilla the Hun's bloodstained keychain." He pointed at the mace at his feet for emphasis. "You can't focus on school, you're up at all hours of the night, you barely talk to me or your mother anymore. And now this? This whole King Arthur/cipher/alien 'investigation' is one of the most complete delusions I've ever seen!"

It was Dr. J. who spoke in Mike's defense. "Oh, so you're calling your good-natured, brilliant, athletic, only son a nightcrawling, isolationist, delusional deadbeat. It's nice to see sixteen years of parenting skills at work, Dennis."

"Steve, I told you to stay out of this!"

"No, I will NOT stay out of it, Dennis! You're out of line and you know it!"

As the Doctors Jones crossed verbal swords, each trying to be louder than the other, it was the object of their argument who first noticed something in the room itself was amiss. A breeze was blowing, tossing Dr. J's notes about in its wake, but it did not come from the open door. It was centralized, and a swirling vortex of papers soon appeared on the wooden floor in front of the couch. "Uh, dad? Dr. J?" Mike ventured worriedly. If either heard, they gave no indication of it, and the wind was growing in intensity. Unsure of what this new phenomenon was, but able to imagine little good coming from it, Mike quickly weighed his options. _I'm unarmed, and the Nova's across the room. So if it comes to a fight I'll have to shockwave it, or call the Nova with telekinesis. Either way, dad is going to see more than we wanted him to see. _"Dad, Doc…" It was no use. He couldn't make himself heard over the dispute. Raising his hands in front of him defensively and preparing to focus a psionic blast at whatever appeared in front of the couch, the sixteen-year-old veteran of an intertemporal, interstellar war prepared himself once more for battle.

A sound like something catching on fire caught the attention of the two men, and their eyes turned finally toward the tornado of papers. In an instant, the wind died away, all falling neatly around a tiny, furry creature on the floor: a mouse. As Mike stared dumbly at the mouse for the briefest of instants, it too disappeared in a flash of orange light that illuminated the entire room. In its place now stood a man: a venerable-looking, white-haired, bearded man wearing an indigo robe and pointed hat.

"I apologize for the mess," Merlin said, looking about at the papers now thoroughly scattered across the room. "I usually make a cleaner entrance."

"I… I'm not seeing… He just…" Dennis stammered.

As Dennis struggled to make sense of the event, Dr. J, who had seen far more shocking things, merely commented off-handedly, "of course. You must be Merlin."

Merlin smiled back, tipping his hat. "And you're Doctor Steven Jones. I would say 'nice to meet you,' but we've met."

"Out of nowhere… No possible way…" Dennis sputtered on.

Doctor. J. nodded back. "I remember. It was the conference in Cairo. You were the eccentric admirer who gave me the Oxford Wonder World."

"Ah," Merlin chirped. "You remember. Splendid."

"The papers… and the mouse… And you just… poof." As he uttered the last syllable, Dennis threw up his hands helplessly.

"Mike," Merlin addressed the boy, "perhaps you had best take your father in the kitchen to have a chat with him. It seems he's missed quite a bit. Go ahead and tell him everything." He added a bit more forwardly, "I'll need to speak with you when you're through."

Mike, as he so often had that day, merely nodded by way of a reply. "Eh, come on Dad. I'll explain what's going on."

As Dennis followed his son hazily, Dr. J. called over his shoulder, "there's a bottle of brandy in the fridge, Dennis. You might need it when you hear this." Looking back toward Merlin he muttered "I know I have a few times during this mess."

Merlin chuckled, his eyes still following Mike until he and Dennis were around the corner in the kitchen, out of earshot. Once they were there his smile faded and he looked directly back at Dr. J. "You'll forgive me, I hope, for dispensing with the pleasantries, Doctor, but I must be brief. I overheard you and Mike discussing the cipher a few moments ago. An admirable job, I must say, but I feel the need to correct a few errors in your translation." Doctor J. said nothing. "Well don't just stand there, my good doctor. Get a pen and paper. You're going to want to take notes."

Doctor J. blinked. "Oh, right." Quickly, he picked up a half torn-out memo pad off of the table in one hand and a mechanical pencil in the other.

"Alright. Are you ready?" Merlin asked.

Doctor J. held up his thumb, signaling that he was.

"Very well, let's begin." Merlin cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "You've translated 'Heirs of Enlightenment.' The phrase is actually 'descendants of the Sages.' You've translated 'Sword-that-was-King,' but it's actually 'Master Sword.' You've translated 'Triple Power of Might,' but it should be 'Triforce of Power.' Finally, you've translated 'the last reborn, One-in-a-Chain.' That should be 'the last rebirth of Link,' with 'Link' being a name."

As Dr. J. quickly scribbled notes, he opened his mouth to speak. "Alright. Sages, Master Sword, Triforce of Power, and Link. Got it. Listen, Merlin, I have two questions I've wanted to ask you since Mike mentioned meeting you."

Merlin raised his eyebrows curiously. "Oh?"

"Yes. The first is this: How did Zoda and the Argonians speak English?"

"They didn't," Merlin answered simply. "The English speak Argonian."

Doctor J. gawked dumbly for a moment. "Huh?"

"Good doctor, I highly doubt that was your second question."

Shaking his head and mentally filing the boggling answer away for further examination, Dr. J. asked his second question. "Well then. Even with your obvious ability to travel through time, how did a wizard from a Roman province learn about Argonia?"

Merlin smiled. "I wondered when one of you two was going to get around to asking that," he said. "It's because I'm half Argonian. Link was my father."

* * *

Across the galaxy, unaware of and unconcerned with the goings on of the Jones family, a ship moved swiftly and silently through space. Its crew, battle-hardened warriors all, watched their stations carefully, attuned to the slightest change in the space around them. It had been a long time since their kind had seen this system, and they didn't know if the inhabitants would receive them warmly, or even recognize them. Years had taken their toll on their kind, as had decades of war: wars in which the Argonian-led Alliance had not come to their aid. Now, they wanted to know why, and they had come to Argonia, third planet of the Hyrune system, to find out.

There were some among their number who felt that they had been betrayed by the Alliance. Still others thought that the Alliance was too old to maintain its former potency. Whatever their feelings, their mission was clear. They had their orders, and they would carry them out, and nothing, not even death, would stop them. Indeed, death had become too familiar a face to them to fear it. Their mission was clear. Their destination was directly ahead. Without hesitation, the ship approached Argonia.


	4. Chapter 4: Bloodlines

Chapter Four: Bloodlines

"You're not making this up, are you?" Dennis Jones asked his son in a way that was more an acknowledgement than a question.

Mike shook his head. "Nope." **_And here's the proof._**

Dennis froze momentarily, hearing Mike but not seeing his mouth move. "And that was your telepathy?"

"That would be it." Mike held his hands toward the refrigerator, which swung open. Two of Dr. J's Diet Cokes flew out of it, directly into Mike's hands. As the refrigerator door appeared to close itself, Mike offered one of the cans to his father.

"And telekinesis," Dennis noted, accepting the can from Mike and pulling the tab open.

"Yep," Mike responded, pulling the tab on his own drink. "I normally don't use them this much, of course, but…"

"But you wanted to make the point," Dennis said agreeably, beginning to accept what he was being told.

"So, now that you're up to date," Mike took a great gulp of his Diet Coke before beginning his question, "you said 'Eshca-Leboor' was carved on the handle of the Super Nova?"

"Super Nova… that's that ball and chain with the spikes?"

Mike nodded.

"Yeah, it's carved on the handle. You mean you didn't know?"

"I really haven't looked at the Nova since I got back," Mike said with a shrug. "I didn't bring it here when I gave Uncle Steve the message from Mica about reading the note backwards, so it wasn't with me for the time travelling mishap. If I ever noticed the runes before, the words wouldn't have meant anything to me."

Dennis slowly nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor as he processed the story. Then he snapped his fingers and looked at Mike with a disbelieving, mischievous look. "Wait a minute, that week Steve said you were over here helping him with the cipher… that was when you were on that little time travelling excursion, wasn't it?"

"Guilty," Mike admitted. "And if you ask the school, they'll say Uncle Steve told them I was out that week with a rare case of 'Island Flu,' and let me tell you, catching up after missing the second week of school wasn't easy."

**_Mike, are you there?_**

Mike stopped short. "Um, could you excuse me for a minute, Dad? I have a call on the other line." After receiving a disconcerted half-nod from his father, Mike focussed his thoughts on answering the telepathic message. **_Mica?_**

_**Yeah, it's me.**_

_**What happened last night? You just… well, you cut me off.**_

_**I'm sorry, Mike. It was just, well, the talk of Dragmire, so soon after… Y'know what? Let me start from the beginning.**_

**_That would be great, Mica. Thanks._**

_**Actually, it's not so great. Mike, I think Zoda's still alive.**_

Mike laughed at the absurd notion. _**Not unless he got off that ship without an escape pod and managed to survive all this time without his head. And if he did, he's walking with a limp.**_

_**That might not have been Zoda, Mike.**_

Mike went numb. How could that monster not have been Zoda? Could there be any other being in the universe able to pass itself off as the Prime Invader? _Yes. In fact there were three of them. **You think the Zoda on the ship was another clone?**_

_**I'm not sure 'clone' is the right word, but yes, it's possible.**_

Mike rubbed his head wearily. _**Mica, just how many of those whatever-they-are's does he have, anyway?**_

_**I don't know. I only recently learned about it, Mike. Some of the survivors here spent a lot of time fighting him, and it seems he knows a way to sort of superimpose his mind onto someone else's.**_

_**Dude, that's heinous.**_

_**It gets worse, Mike. Before Zoda abandoned Argonia, he did something more horrible than we would have thought possible.**_

Mike braced himself. _**What could be worse than wiping out your people?**_

_**He may well have wiped out a lot more than just Argonia on his way to Earth. He destroyed the Frontier.**_

_The Frontier,_ Mike thought._ Dude, I really am turning into Alex Rogan. **Wow, that sucks. Um, what's the Frontier?**_

Mike could sense Mica's confusion as she prepared her answer. _**Sorry, for a second I guess I just forgot you weren't Argonian.**_ Mike wasn't sure why, but that admission brought traces of a smile to the corners of his mouth. _**Mike, nearly two hundred years ago a bio-mechanical symbiotic hive called the Aparoids started threatening several of the star systems in this part of the galaxy. The only way Argonia was able to fight them back was by forming an Alliance with nine other star systems and building an energy barrier that surrounded our combined space. It was designed to only let an artificial craft through if it broadcast an Alliance communication signal. We called this barrier the Frontier.**_

_**But Zoda got through this barrier,**_ Mike began to fit the pieces together, _**and now these freakazoids or whatever can get to Argonia and the whole Alliance.**_

_**Well, no. Actually, we wondered for the longest time how Zoda could have gotten through the Frontier. But now we know**_… She could not finish. **_Well, just ask Merlin about Zoda's past. From what we've found out recently, he might be able to tell you more. Anyway, _They_… the Aparoids just became a moot point. The hive died out just before we came back._**

_**Well, that's great! …Isn't it?**_

Mica was silent for a long time.

"Mike," Dennis interrupted. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine, Dad. Just… just give me a sec." _**Mica? Mica, are you there?**_

_**I'm here, Mike. It's just that… well, the answer to your question is a painful one.**_

_**Oh, man… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be… Mica, you don't have to answer.**_

_**No, Mike. I feel like I need to tell you. At least, I need to tell someone, and you're the only person I CAN tell.**_ Mike couldn't see Mica, and couldn't truly 'hear' her, but he had the distinct impression she was crying. _**Mike, they hate us.**_

_**Who?**_

_**The survivors, Mike.**_

_**Mica,**_ Mike argued sincerely, _**how could anyone hate you?**_

**_They do. They think we abandoned them. And now that _They _died just before we came back… well, everyone has gotten the idea that we were in control of the hive. Our own people, the people I spent weeks praying for a way to get back to, don't trust us. We're not welcome on our own homeworld, and we don't have a way back to Earth, and now Zoda might still be able to come back and… I'm lost, Mike. I'm just lost!_**

* * *

"Uh, Steve," Dr. J heard Dennis call from the kitchen. "M… Merlin, Come in here. What's happening to my son?"

Doctor J and Merlin both looked in Dennis' direction and quickly made their way to the kitchen. When they got there, Dennis was leaning against the counter, apparently frozen with indecision. Mike, seated on a chair at the table arm's length away had his eyes closed as if focussing hard on an idea. Dr. J had seen him this way before, when he was practicing his telepathy, but this time something was out of place. Mike's eyes were filled with tears.

"He's been that way for a few minutes now," Dennis said hurriedly. "Said something about a 'call on the other line,' or something. After that he just…" he made a sweeping motion over his face with his hand, "he just signed off."

"He's mind-speaking with someone," Dr. J. explained. "Although I'm not sure who. And whoever it is, he doesn't like what he's hearing."

"Should we try and wake him?" Dennis offered. "Or would that be like waking a sleepwalker."

"You can't wake him," Merlin said with forced patience, "because he isn't asleep. He can hear us now, just fine. He's just not acknowledging us. It's just as if you were so caught up in a conversation with someone that you chose to tune out everyone else in the room. And to answer your question, I don't know how you Americans do things, but in Britain we consider it quite rude to butt in."

Dennis glared irately at the aged wizard. "Well pardon me if I'm not well-versed in the courtesies of telepaths. What do we do?"

"We give the boy a bit of privacy, of course," Merlin replied, "and allow him to finish conversing with Her Highness."

"Her Highness," Dennis' ears perked up. "You must mean this Princess Mica he mentioned."

"It would be my guess," Merlin affirmed, motioning for Dennis to follow him and Dr. J. "Come, come."

"Who is she?" Dennis asked.

"The Princess of Argonia, of course," Merlin answered.

"No. I mean, who is she?" Then, a wave of realization came over Dennis. "Is she the red-haired girl with the pointed ears? The one who's in all those pictures Mike took on the island?"

"Ah, I see you took the liberty of snooping through Mike's photo album," Dr. J. scolded. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture. And yes, she's the red-haired girl with the pointed ears."

"I see," Dennis said softly. "Good, good." The three men sat in the main room of Dr. J's lab for nearly half an hour, most of which was dedicated to making sure Mike had not left any gaps in his explanation to Dennis. When Mike finally emerged from the kitchen, red-faced and with eyes abruptly dried to hide tears, they all turned to face him. "Is everything alright?" Dennis asked unnecessarily.

Mike shook his head. "No," he answered, turning toward Merlin. "No, it's not. Merlin, I have to talk to you."

"That need is mutual then," Merlin replied. "I have some important information for you, but go ahead."

"I need to know about Zoda's past. Mica said you could tell me."

Merlin stood up and slowly began to pace. "I can't tell you much about Zoda's past," he said. "But I can tell you about his infernal heritage."

Mike nodded. "Okay, tell me what you know."

Merlin laced his fingers together through his beard as he began. "Did Princess Mica ever tell you of the Argonian legend of the Triforce?" Three heads shook in response. "I see." Merlin looked toward the floor as he paced. _This is going to take quite some time then._ "It begins with Argonia's Creation Legend (I shan't say 'myth,' since much of it can't be denied). In the distant past, a world existed in space which was little more than an arid rock. The third planet of its system, with breathable air, it had all the capability to support life, but fate never deigned to grace it with such. This was the world that would later become Argonia. For now, however, it was a lifeless hulk. Lifeless, that is, until three beings observed this world and took pity on it, calling it 'Hyrule,' a name which literally translates into 'Heroism.' These were the Sisters, Din, Farore and Nayru. Many religious sects on Argonia revere these three as Goddeses, others claim they were simply angels, and certain warped factions (of which Zoda was a devout follower) believe they were demons. Perhaps all three are wrong and they were simply aliens of immense power. As for me, I know not their nature. I simply know this: the Sisters existed."

"From an alien Book of Genesis up through a space age war," Dennis muttered. "We'll be here a while."

Merlin glared sharply at Dennis for an instant, but then his glare subsided as he approached the psychiatrist menacingly. "Doctor Jones," he said in a deceptively cordial voice, "it is quite rude to interrupt. I would prefer it if you did not do it again. Is that understood?"

"Are you threatening me? Because if you are –Mmpf! Mmm mm hmmmph!" Dennis' reply was cut short as he found his lips pressed tightly together by an unseen force. Unseen, that is, until Merlin lifted his hand, showing his thumb and forefinger pressed together as if pinching something tightly.

"Since it is apparently not," Merlin stated, "then let me help you remember your manners. You may speak again when I am finished. Understood? Splendid. Now where was I?" He tapped his chin with his free hand for a few seconds. "Oh yes, the Sisters. Din, regarded by Argonians as the Goddess of Might, formed the planet's soil into rich, fertile ground. Farore, the Goddess of the Heart, gave the planet its waters and caused life to flourish. Nayru, Goddess of the Mind, spread her power over the young world, giving it the spirit of law. From these three, Argonian society developed with a profound esteem for three basic virtues. In honor of Din, Argonians revere power. In adoration to Farore, they admire courage. In tribute to Nayru, they hold wisdom in the highest regard of all." Here he paused.

"Hold on," Dr. J. injected his comment in the pause. "If Argonians revere power so much, why were they such a pacifistic society?"

"Ah," Merlin smiled at the question. "But you're mistaken. Argonians aren't pacifists. They've simply grown accustomed to peace, having destroyed all their enemies centuries ago. And after all, isn't peace the ultimate symbol of power? You needn't go to war if you have no enemies left."

"Intriguing," was all Dr. J. said in response, and Merlin went on.

"The Sisters never again visited Hyrule, but they did leave behind an 'autograph,' if you will, in the form of three relics which the people named the Triforce. These relics, identical golden sculptures of triangles, were said to each embody one of the three virtues, and early Hyrulians hid them away in a safe location. According to legend, if a person of pure heart touched the Triforce, it would grant that person the 'Power to Govern All,' or as Historians nicknamed it, the 'Trueforce.' On the other hand, if a person of impure heart touched the Triforce, it would split into its three separate parts, with the one who touched it keeping only the piece embodying the virtue he valued most. The other two, it was said, would then choose bearers of their own."

"Sounds kinda like the Greek myths if you ask me," Mike noted skeptically. "Where does Zoda fit into all this?"

"Yes, yes, I was getting to that," Merlin assured him impatiently, and continued. "Centuries rolled on for the young world of Hyrule, and dozens of sentient species developed, each establishing their own kingdom. One of these kingdoms, called Hylia, became the leading power on the planet, establishing treaties between the others and ushering in a time of peace. It remained this way until a tribe of Hylian thieves, the Gerudos, emerged in the desert just outside of Hylia. Hylia's might was sufficient to keep them confined to the desert of their origin, at first, until a new leader emerged among them: a ruthless murderer named Ganondorf Dragmire."

"Dragmire," Mike and his uncle both echoed.

Merlin nodded somberly. "The very same. Of course, in those days he was merely a man. A powerful warrior, and something of a 'sorcerer,'" he held up quotation symbols with his fingers, freeing Dennis' lips as his hands moved. "But still merely a man. You see, psionic power had only manifested itself in a few people in those days, and the world didn't know what to call it yet, so those who possessed the gift were called sorcerers. In any case, Ganondorf Dragmire, the self-proclaimed King of Thieves, craved power above all else, so you can imagine how his ambitions leaned when he learned of the Triforce's existence. After all, the 'Power to Govern All' would be quite a tempting prize for any rising tyrant."

"And I guess a thieving murderer wasn't what the Triforce would call 'pure of heart,'" Mike surmised, hoping Merlin would just cut to the chase.

"Indeed," Merlin agreed with Mike's statement. "And so when Dragmire touched the Triforce, of course, it split, and the Triforce of Power, of course, remained with him. The other two parts were scattered to the remotest corners of the world. The Triforce of Wisdom chose Princess Zelda, the young daughter of the Hylian Royal Family, as its bearer. The Triforce of Courage chose a boy from the most rural of Hyrule's forests. His name, as you might have guessed, Dr. Jones, was Link."

"One-in-a-chain," Mike exclaimed.

Doctor J. nodded. "He told me,'" he explained. "My question is, how did this 'Triforce of Power' get to Earth. After all, the cipher-"

"Patience, patience," Merlin huffed. "Don't get ahead of the story." With a pause to make sure he still held the trio's attention, the wizard continued. "With the Triforce of Power at his command, Ganondorf Dragmire launched a campaign of such brutality that even his native Gerudo tribe turned on him, albeit too late. Hyrule was his to toy with."

"And what about Link and… what's-her-name?" Mike inquired.

"Link and Zelda were too young to fight Dragmire," Merlin replied simply. "And so, they were hidden away for ten years. The exact means have been lost to history, but I do know it time travel was involved, made possible by, of all things, a musical isntrument, not unlike what Terrans would call an ocarina, infused with some rather peculiar powers. When they emerged, both seventeen years old, Dragmire detected it and sought to slay them and take the Triforce pieces."

"But hadn't the Triforce already told him 'no?'" Dr. J. inquired.

"It had," Merlin explained. "But the Triforce seeks, above all things, to be reunited. Dragmire knew this, and he knew that if he could acquire the other two pieces separately, he would have the Trueforce at his command. Fearing this, seven of Hyrule's most powerful psionics fashioned a sword: a sword with some… rather unique properties. They called this sword the 'Master Sword,' which, in Hylian," he looked directly at Mike before continuing, "is '_Eshca-Leboor_.'"

"Ah, so Hylian is the archaic Argonian language that the cipher was written in," Dr. J. spoke up.

"Correct," said Merlin.

"But that still doesn't explain the language question. How do two societies on opposite sides of the galaxy-"

"One story at a time, my good doctor."

"Yeah. Let him finish, Uncle Steve," Mike urged him. "This is starting to get interesting, even though I still don't get what it has to do with Zoda… or Mica, or anything else for that matter."

Merlin smiled knowingly. "Well then, here's your first tidbit of a then-and-now connection. The seven psionics who created _Eshca-Leboor_ were given the title 'Sages.'"

At that, Dr. J. snapped his fingers. "Of course! Seven Sages! Mike, the cipher said the seven children in the escape pod were descended from seven sages! You know the part I thought meant 'Heirs of Enlightenment?'"

Mike nodded. "Uh huh. You think it was talking about these seven that created the sword?"

"That's correct," Merlin answered for Dr. J, "and they did more than just create the sword. As Link battled Dragmire with _Eshca-Leboor_, the Sages, one of whom was none other than Princess Zelda, combined their powers to cast Dragmire into the void."

"Combine their powers? How?" Mike asked.

Merlin rubbed his forehead. "I must admit, that detail has been lost over the years, as well as the meaning of 'casting him into the void.' Some Argonian Theologians believe they killed Dragmire somehow, others say he was simply sealed in some form of stasis. For my part, I believe the latter. Either way, the end result was the same, though it's not the ending one would think." Merlin paused to clear his throat. "Before I go any further, there's one more detail that should be noted here. By the time Link faced Dragmire, the Triforce of Power's corrupting influence had transformed his body into a distorted, warped reflection of his own heart. He was more a monster than a man when they fought, and as the last vestiges of his former self were stripped away, he shed his name with them, simply calling himself Ganon. Hylians, for their part, would later call him another name: 'Ganondorf Hellswine.'"

"Why Hellswine?" Dennis spoke for the first time since having his lips sealed together.

"Because he looked like a pig, didn't he?" Mike asked in a tone that suggested it was more a statement than a question. "A gigantic, two-legged pig with huge tusks and red eyes."

Doctor J gasped as a wave of recognition came over him, but held his tongue. Merlin simply nodded his head knowingly. "You've seen him before, haven't you?"

"Excuse me?" Dennis interrupted again. "Isn't it a little strange that they have pigs on Argonia, and even call them the same thing we do?"

A great hush fell over the room, and every eye turned to face Dennis.

"What?" Dennis shrugged. "It just seems weird."

Doctor J rubbed his eyes. "There is a time-travelling, psychic, half-alien wizard standing in my living room. He's telling my alien-world-saving adolescent nephew and me about a psychic alien with a sword. With this sword he killed a man who transformed himself into a monster by playing with the wrong set of golden building blocks, and the part my brother the shrink has a hard time believing is that there are pigs on another planet."

"Gentlemen," Merlin said loudly, "may we return to the topic?"

"Yeah, Dad" Mike scolded. "Besides, they probably have pigs on every planet where they have mud."

"In… ANY… case…" Merlin emphasized each word as he spoke, signaling that the aside was over, "yes. Ganondorf Dragmire was a disfigured beast. Let's move on." He waited for the three men to settle down, then continued. "The story didn't end with the defeat of Dragmire. Yes, peace was restored. Princess Zelda ascended to the Hylian throne. Link, ever watchful, founded an order called the Knights of Hylia, trained in what you would call the code of chivalry. This Order's purpose, according to Link, was to maintain peace in Hylia, and throughout all of Hyrule. Their true purpose, however, ran a bit deeper. You see, Link and Zelda both knew that Dragmire's shadow would fall over Hyrule again. Neither of them knew how right they were though.

"Six centuries later a priest by the name of Aghanim Drekmyr was born, claiming a direct descent from Dragmire. Admittedly, you can see the similarity in name. Whether his lineage truly was from Dragmire or not, he claimed to have received a message in a dream from Dragmire, commanding him to revive the demon by capturing the descendants of the seven Sages. He succeeded in capturing them," Merlin smirked when he got to this point. "What he didn't count on was the Triforce having a plan of its own. The Triforce, as I've said, seeks above all else to be reassembled, but it is also highly selective whom it chooses. Having already chosen Link, Zelda, and Dragmire, it was unwilling to part with them, even for death. So, anticipating Dragmire's resurrection, the Triforce caused two children two be born who were the reincarnations of Link and Zelda. Link, wielding _Eshca-Leboor_ once again, was able to slay Dragmire and Aghanim, rescue the descendants of the Sages, and restore the peace. The only thing he failed to do was reassemble the Triforce."

By this time Mike's patience was all but gone. "Okay, okay, so how did this end?"

"Well, to make a long story short," Merlin began the continuation of his tale.

"Yes, and please do," Dennis pleaded.

If Merlin heard Dennis, he gave no indication. "Three thousand years rolled on. Every few centuries some idiot revived Dragmire and a reincarnated Link and Zelda fought him, with _Eshca-Leboor_ being the weapon of Dragmire's undoing every time. And with each rebirth, Link and Zelda gained a little more awareness of their previous existences. All in all this battle took place twelve times, including the original incarnation of Link and Zelda. It was, naturally, the final battle between Link and Dragmire that took the greatest toll on Hyrule." His voice took on a darker tone as he continued. "Dragmire's final resurrection was during Hyrule's nuclear age, as a Hylian-led international organization prepared to launch the planet's first manned interstellar flight. As you can well imagine, nuclear weaponry intrigued Dragmire, and his first act was to set himself up as dictator of one of the nuclear nations. In fact, it was none other than the Gerudo Confederation. I doubt I have to tell you, gentlemen, that a nuclear superpower ruled by a psychopathic tyrant with the Triforce of Power at his command spelled a dark time for Hyrule."

"Most bogus," Mike whispered.

"Indeed," Merlin responded. "Dragmire very nearly wiped out life on Hyrule. Out of the planet's half-dozen remaining sentient species, the only one to survive his nuclear torrent was the race that spawned him, and its survivors were a scattered few. Fortunately, those of the Sages who were of other species had long since married into the Hylian race, and so their heritage was preserved in part, but the damage could not be undone. Hylia lay in ruins, and the Gerudo Confederation, under Dragmire's iron-fisted rule, now dominated the planet."

"Until Link and Zelda appeared on the scene again, I presume," Dr. J noted.

"But of course," Merlin said with the same smirk as when he spoke of the flaw in Aghanim's plan. "Link and Zelda, as expected, were alive, and Link did indeed have Eshca-Leboor in his possession, but this time was a bit different. Dragmire, by now, had learned to expect Link and Zelda's reappearance, and having finally achieved his goal of world domination, with the power to expand his domain into the stars, he had no intention of allowing history to repeat itself a twelfth time. Unfortunately for him, neither did Link. The bearer of the Triforce of Courage realized by now what Dragmire had long known: that the only way to break the resurrection cycle was for one of the three to acquire the Trueforce. Records from the era are sparse, for obvious reasons, but history does record that Link was successful in this. Once again the story should have ended there. Then again, that would be too easy, wouldn't it?

"Realizing that the Triforce was too powerful to be trusted in any one person's hands, but fearing to allow Dragmire to be resurrected again, Link scattered the Triforce parts to three different worlds. Meanwhile, Hyrule had other problems. The Gerudo Confederation was utterly destroyed in the final clash between Link and Dragmire, and with Hylia in ruins and all Hyrule's other nations uninhabitable, the ragtag band of survivors faced the task of rebuilding. Enter, King Argo of Hylia: Zelda's father and the mastermind of the reconstruction effort. So great was his influence in the reestablishment of order that the new global nation of the planet took his name: Argonia. Link only saw this nation in its infancy before leaving the planet, but to ensure that the hero would not be forgotten, every Argonian king since has borne the name Hyru-Kahn; 'Hero's Glory.'"

"Hyru-Kahn," Mike repeated. "Like Hirocon. And that also means Hirocon and Mica are descended from Zelda."

Merlin went on as though he did not hear Mike. "Unfortunately, when Dragmire tried to wipe out the Hylians, one of the men he missed was one of the bastard descendants of Aghanim Drekmyr. Nineteen centuries later, in what your calendars would call the year 1945 A.D, a boy was born from his line carrying the name Zodanorv Drekmyr."

Doctor J steepled his fingers in front of him. "And like his ancestor Ganondorf Dragmire, he shed most of his birth name, referring to himself simply as Zoda."

"When I first met Hirocon," Merlin elaborated, "he told me of Zodanorv, the 'High Priest of Dragmire.' I recognized the name Dragmire immediately, and warned Hirocon to banish Zodanorv from his realm for daring to practice Dragmire-worship, but he was hesitant to exile someone who, at that point, had committed no crime. By the time Zoda DID give Hirocon grounds to exile him, seven Argonians had been killed, six of whom were descended form the Sages. This, Zodanorv believed, was what would be necessary to revive Dragmire. Though it sounds harsh to say it, it was great fortune that Zoda mistook Hirocon's wife for the daughter of Zelda's line. Otherwise, Dragmire may well have been revived. Regardless, when Zoda returned from his exile in the year you call 1970 A.D. to finish what he began on Argonia, Hirocon made his desperate play for the preservation of Argonian society by launching the escape pod. That, of course, was the last thing Hirocon did before seeking my hurried assistance in sealing himself away in the Tetrads."

"Then that's why Hirocon chose those seven," Mike concluded. "Because he knew what Zoda was trying to do."

"Merlin, I still think there's an important detail missing here," Doctor J diverted the wizard's attention.

Merlin snapped his fingers. "Thank you for reminding me, doctor. Holy Sisters, how could I have so nearly forgotten? I have news for Mike."

_He's avoiding my question, _Dr. J thought.

"Mike," Merlin said urgently. "The first thing you need to know is-"

"Lemme guess," Mike said with mock curiosity. "Zoda's alive. Yeah, Mica told me."

"Indeed, he is," Merlin responded without missing a beat. "That's the first thing then. The second," he drew a deep breath and looked around as if unsure whether or not he should finish.

"The second thing…" Mike prodded, gesturing with his hand for Merlin to hurry up.

"Mike," Merlin finally said. "It's time I started preparing you for a trip to Argonia."

_Eastern Shore; Argo City, Argonia_

Mica wasn't sure how long she had been crying when she felt a worried tug in the back of her mind.

_**Daughter, is everything alright?**_

"I'm fine, daddy," she answered aloud, knowing that Hirocon would undoubtedly be close by. "I just… I've been… well…" She struggled, not yet ready to let her father know she had been conversing with Mike.

"It's been a difficult few days for the princess," Moraigne came to Mica's aid. "She needed some time to think, so she came here. And don't worry, Regent. She's been under my protection."

"I see," came Hirocon's answer as he finally approached within speaking distance, his slow gait leaving deep footprints in the fine sand. When he reached the shell where Mica sat, he stopped and turned toward Moraigne. "I think your people are in need of your leadership back at the shelter, Delvan," he said neutrally.

Moraigne stood silent and confused for a moment before smirking and shaking his head. "I'd forgotten how you could do that," he murmured. "Tell me to go away and make it sound like flattery. 'In need of my leadership' indeed. Well," With a last look in Mica's direction, he dismissed himself with a mock bow to Hirocon and a sugar-coated "by your leave then, 'Sire.'"

Mica mouthed a silent 'thank you' to Moraigne for speaking up, then turned away to keep from seeing his reaction. Hirocon watched silently as Moraigne walked back toward the capital, then sat down next to Mica as he had a few days before, and joined her in staring out toward the misty horizon. "You two were very close, you and Delvan." The statement came out in a way that suggested Hirocon was asking for confirmation of it. "Before the fall, I mean."

"We were _Etanni_," Mica cut through Hirocon's fatherly probing and answered the question she knew he would get around to eventually. "We were planning to announce it in seven months, at the Festival of Sages." She pursed her lips as she continued bitterly, "of course, Zoda came, and the festival didn't."

"You were _Etanni_," Hirocon repeated, nodding stoically. "And now?"

"Now we aren't," Mica answered sharply.

"Just like that?"

Mica laughed darkly at that phrase, the phrase she herself had used shortly before to protest Moraigne's indifferent attitude toward her. "Yes," she answered just as darkly. "Just, like, _that_."

Twenty years before, Hirocon would have been alarmed at the notion of his daughter being involved in a broken betrothal. Now, in the wake of the most devastating catastrophe since Dragmire's holocaust nearly two thousand years before, and with the… unusual circumstances, he allowed himself the thought that maybe it was best for Mica not to be involved with the de facto ruler of Argo City. From the tear-streaked face of the Argonian Princess, however, it was clear Mica did not agree. "I find it no small irony," Hirocon mused. "The last time I can remember seeing you smile was on Earth, when we were still in exile."

Mica said nothing. She had made the same observation, and she now began to doubt planetary location had anything to do with the reason.

Hirocon went further. "I'm forced to admit, if I'd known what we would find when we returned, I would have joined you and the other six in settling quietly in with the Coralcolan villagers."

"If you'd known," Mica repeated noncommittally. "And what about the things you did know?"

Hirocon raised his thick, red eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

"Back at the cave, Father. When Moraigne told us who Zoda was, we all noticed you were the only one who didn't seem surprised."

Hirocon wrung his hands together, an unusual sight to Mica. "I didn't know," he asserted. "I confess, I suspected."

"And what made you suspect, then?" Even without consciously scanning her father's surface thoughts, his unease at the subject scratched at Mica's mind.

"There were… similarities between Zodanorv Drekmyr's methods and Zoda's," Hirocon explained. "For example, a certain affinity for 'suggestion.' I never wanted to believe it, but a part of me did. That's why I-" the Regent cut himself off in midsentence.

Mica waited curiously. "That's why you what?"

"I tried to fight him," Hirocon sighed.

"You what?!"

"I tried to fight Zoda, alone," Hirocon elaborated. "When he first landed. I thought the weapon at my command would be well more than he could muster, Dragmire's descendant or not."

"What weapon?"

Hirocon looked away. "Nothing," he answered quickly: too quickly, Mica thought. "It was nothing, and I was a fool to think it would be otherwise." With that he stood up, dusted the sand off of his cloak, and extended his hand to Mica. "We should go back. It's not safe out here."

"What makes it any safer in the 'shelter,' if you insist on calling it that?" Mica countered acidly. "The Aparoids-"

"Mica, your language!"

"-are all dead, and Zoda can find us in there just as easily as out here if he's still alive. But at least out here I don't have a colony of bitter refugees who think I'm the reason their planet is dying!" Her voice rose with every syllable, ending in a scream, followed by another barrage of tears. "They hate us, father. Can't you see that? They blame US! They think we abandoned them, they think we wasted the escape pods, and they say the worst happened after we left. Well do you know what I say? _LET THEM_! Let them hate us, because I hate them equally." Her anger spent, Mica buried her face again in her arms, curled up and collapsed into a flurry of sobs.

Hirocon allowed her to cry for a time before kneeling beside her, lifting her chin (causing her to jerk her head away) and taking her hands in his. "Mica, you have to remember, now more than ever before, that you are the Princess of Argonia. Whether they realize it or not, they look to you for guidance."

"Look to me?" Mica hissed, still not looking Hirocon in the eye. "What conversation were you listening to?"

"They look to Argo's line, as they have for nearly two thousand years, even if they don't realize it. And as the heir to that burden, it's your duty to think of the people first, even when they hate you."

"How can you ask that of me?" Mica snapped. "They don't want our leadership, father. They want us to leave, or to die. I don't think they've decided which yet."

"They've been through a great ordeal, Mica," Hirocon answered calmly. "In all honesty, a greater ordeal than what you went through."

"How is that?"  
"You, and I, and the other six were horrified to find Argonia in this condition when we got back," Hirocon reminded her. "The seas and rivers are toxic, some so much so that they poison the land around them too much for anything to grow. The air in some places is unbreathable for the noxious fumes. Kakariech City even had the planetary crust stripped out from underneath it, forcing pressurized magma so high into the air that it rained down on the entire Eastern Hemisphere. Coming home to find the planet this way was… well you remember how it felt. But consider it from the survivors' perspective. They've had to slowly watch the planet and its people die away for twenty years, Mica. Now, I can't begin to imagine what it was like in the first days after the capital fell, but I would envision a rather dark and brutal era."

Mica thought back to Moraigne's description of those days. "I can imagine fairly well."

Hirocon went on. "Then you see that the only thing holding our people together, really the only thing they have in common, is that they've all shared a trial by fire, in a very literal sense. And we weren't part of that, daughter. We had a long string of half-remembered, half-living years in time-sleep followed by what basically amounts to a vacation on Earth. Compared to their history, we've had an easy time of it."

"I know," Mica murmured. "Daddy, was it the right thing to do? Leaving, I mean? Are they right when they say we abandoned them?"

Mica's words cut Hirocon as deeply as a blade. "I've agonized over that for ages, Mica. I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but I know it was the only thing to do. Even if Argonia died, you seven had to be preserved, and eventually you would have to return. So, to make sure you could return, I had to follow you. There was simply no other way. I don't expect the survivors who fought against former friends, now controlled by Zoda, to understand that, but as Argo's heirs, the burden of earning their trust falls on us."

When Mica finally responded it was choked and petulant. "Why did this burden have to be mine, daddy? Why did I have to be the Princess when the planet was nearly laid to waste?"

Hirocon placed his hand under Mica's chin and gently turned her face toward his once again, though her eyes were still focussed down into the sand. "I don't know," he said consolingly. "But I would be willing to say Zelda Argo probably asked herself the same question."

Mica shook her head. "Zelda Argo was the greatest queen Argonia has ever had. She probably never cried."

"That great queen was a seventeen year old princess when Link and Dragmire fought for the last time."

"At least Zelda's people didn't resent her," Mica pouted.

"Is that so?" Hirocon placed Mica's hands back onto her knees and laced his fingers together. "She was a Triforce bearer, just as Dragmire was. And the main reason Dragmire marked Hylia for destruction was to kill her. The history books don't record it this way, but I'd believe there were certain factions among the survivors who blamed her, and Link as well, for Dragmire's Holocaust."

Mica wiped a few stray tears away with her hand. "Do you really think Zelda felt the way I feel?"

"I'll bet she sat right here, on this very beach, and cried her eyes out to King Argo. And I'll bet King Argo told her the same thing I'm telling you: that this was a time for strength."

Mica turned her eyes up to face Hirocon. "Then do you really think I have the same strength Queen Zelda had?"

"I'm sure of it," Hirocon told her. With that he leaned toward her and kissed her forehead.

"Daddy," Mica tried to make herself sound plaintive about the gesture, even as she giggled at it. "I haven't let you do that since I was ten."

"I know. I just wanted to remind you that you still have some childhood left, and you don't have to bear the burden of regency all alone yet."

"Well technically, I'm thirty-five cycles old," Mica countered jokingly.

"Fifteen cycles old," Hirocon insisted. "If years in stasis counted, I could be anywhere between sixty four and six thousand, depending on how you look at time travel and which one of the tetrads you're measuring my age by, and I refuse to believe I'm that old. And as the Regent of Argonia, if I don't want to believe it then by the Sisters, no one is going to make me. Is that understood?" His mockingly scolding words belied the jovial grin that accompanied them, and Mica found herself unable to keep from smiling.

"And as the Princess of Argonia, if I want to believe you _are_ six thousand years old, then no one is going to stop me," Mica answered in the same manner.

"There. You see? That's the attitude I'm looking for."

Mica smiled. "I guess you're right, as usual," she said, leaning back against the shell behind her and gazing up at the last visible stars as night fled before the oncoming sunlight. The constellation containing Earth had just begun to fade to obscurity as the sun took over the Eastern horizon, but the tiny yellow point of light still glimmered faintly. 'Until nightfall, my love,' she imagined it calling to her. _No_, she quickly shook that thought from her head. _It could never be_. Even if she could still talk to Mike, in a way, she doubted she would ever see him again, and it wouldn't do to let those feelings surface again. _Do you really think Zelda felt the way I feel_? Her earlier question echoed in her mind, with a new meaning this time, and Mica closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift. _Did she love him too? Were Link and Zelda simply united by the common desire to destroy Dragmire, or was there more to their story? _

_When Link left Argonia, did he take her heart with him, just as mine stayed on Earth with the boy-hero?_ Mica opened her eyes and looked again at the quickly fading stars. The yellow Terran star was no longer there, but a shooting star passed through the point in the sky where it had been, and then slowed to a near stop. Mica's brow wrinkled. _A shooting star, slowing down?_ "Daddy," she pointed to the spot in the sky. "What's that?"

"Hmm?"

Mica pointed a bit more forcefully at the slow-moving light in the sky. "That. I thought it was a shooting star, but then it slowed down."

Hirocon shook his head. "I'm not sure." He closed his eyes and reached out his thoughts into the planet around him. After a moment his eyes snapped open, his face a mask of shock. "Mica," he said standing up quickly, "we need to get back to the shelter to talk to the others."

"Why? What is it, father?" Mica asked as she scrambled to her feet. "Tell me it isn't more bad news."

"News it is," Hirocon answered. "Good or bad, I don't know. But it's important." And with that he spun on his heel, his royal blue cloak swishing behind him, and strode hastily toward the city.

"You've been taking cryptic comment lessons from Merlin," Mica accused as she trotted after him. "What's going on?"

"It's a ship, Mica," Hirocon gave that a moment to sink in. "With people on it, and they're not Argonian."

_December 1, 97 A.D._

_Link's Burial Ground; South Seas_

"Pendragon, I wish you'd be a bit more open-minded about this," called Merlin, younger son of Link.

"I've been open-minded enough, young brother," answered a burly, red-haired boy nearing the age of manhood as he strode toward the exit of the temple. "I won't allow it to end this way, Merlin. I simply won't."

"But this is what Father wanted," Merlin pleaded, following after. "The Triforce of Power was Dragmire's strength. You know that. The whole point of Father coming to Earth was to seal it."

"No!" Pendragon spun around and pointed his finger vehemently at Merlin. "He came here to keep it from Dragmire's reach. Not so it would be buried on some foreign world, and him with it. The least we could do is at least bury Father somewhere in Britannia, and not here in this Sisters-forsaken corner of this Sisters-forsaken world!"

"Father _chose_ this site," Merlin shouted over his elder brother. "He picked this island himself, and built this temple himself, telling us it was to be his final resting place."

Pendragon lowered his finger, but did not allow the venom to slip from his voice. "Yes," he digressed, "you're right. Father wanted this to be his burial ground, far enough from Britannia that if anyone followed from Hyrule-"

"Argonia," Merlin corrected.

"Argonia then," Pendragon agreed gruffly. "This is far enough away from our home that it would make him harder to track. But think, Merlin. If Father didn't want Britannia to be the site of his kingdom, why would he have married a Celtic Princess?"

"Father didn't come here to build a kingdom, Pendragon. He didn't come here to be a conqueror."

"LIAR!" Pendragon bellowed. "Did he not tell us constantly that we needed to be a guide, a light for this young race?"

"I don't think he meant-"

"Britannia is a part of Rome, Merlin. Rome! The leading empire on this planet."

Merlin said nothing.

"We could lead it, Merlin," Pendragon held his hand out imploringly toward Merlin. "Maybe not us, but our descendants. We're already royalty in Britannia. We, the sons of Link, could lead Camelot to prosperity, and spread into all of the Empire. Merlin, Rome could be the next Hylia! What better guidance could we give this world than to reestablish Blessed Hylia?"

"And Caesar could be the next Dragmire," Merlin countered. "And do you remember what became of Hylia?"

Pendragon fumed. "Then it will be up to Father's bloodline to dethrone the Caesars."

Merlin shook his head. "I won't allow it, brother."

"Damn what you'll allow!" Pendragon drew his sword and brandished it in the dim light. "I'm the elder of us, and Father left _Eshca-leboor_ to me! And by that authority, I swear to rebuild Hylia, starting with her Knightly Order."

"And Father left the Triforce of Power to me," Merlin countered. "And by that authority, I swear that the power of Dragmire died with his destroyer. I will NOT see it in the hands of a tyrant again, and it will stay buried here, far from your reach, for all time!"

For minutes, neither brother spoke. "Then so be it," Pendragon finally broke the silence. "But know this, sorcerer. I _will _be king in Camelot, and my progeny will be her kings, and her defenders. The Knights of Hylia will be reestablished there, and one from my line will teach them the old ways. I vow to you, Merlin, that a descendant of my line, of my Kingdom, will one day set his feet again on Hyrulian soil. As for you," he shook with rage as he spoke. "See that you don't enter Britannia while I live, for the day I see you next will be the day one of us dies." Without another word, Pendragon, elder son of Link, summoned the little mastery of Psionic power he had inherited from his Argonian father and disappeared in a flash of blinding light, bound for Britannia.

"So be it, King of the Britons," Merlin said sadly into the empty air. "But your sons, and their sons, and their sons' sons will need my guidance more than this world needs yours." With that, the younger son of the Trueforce Bearer turned one final time toward his father's grave, the resting place of the Sacred Triforce. "Forgive me, Father," he said penitently, "but I shan't soon return to this place."

_September 8, 1990_

_Steven Jones' Lab; Seattle, Washington_

"Merlin," Mike shook his head as he tried to absorb everything he was being told. "There is no way I can go to Argonia. I mean, for one thing, how would I get there?"

"I can teach you," Merlin spoke quickly, suspecting Mike did not intend to pause for very long.

"And then," Mike went on as expected, "How am I supposed to explain to people here how I just disappeared? Besides, I can't leave. Team placement is coming up." Mike realized only after he spoke just how petty the final argument was.

"I should think by now that you would have gotten quite good at explaining away the unusual," Merlin rebutted, not dignifying Mike's baseball team complaint with a response.

Mike got up and walked to the window. "Argonia," he sighed. "Merlin, before this summer I'd never even left the continental U.S, and now you're telling me I'm supposed to go to a planet on the opposite side of the galaxy?"

"Before this summer," Merlin replied, "you'd never driven a car, and now you've piloted a state-of-the-art, experimental mini sub."

Mike chuckled as he thought of 'Sub-C,' the exploratory craft based at Dr. J's C-Island lab, and how he'd 'borrowed' it for his adventure during the summer. "Okay, Mer. You got me there. But…" he turned to Merlin. "But Argonia? Merlin, I can't. I'm not cut out for this."

"You weren't cut out for tracking down your abducted uncle, rescuing the last remnant of an alien race from Zoda, or surviving a trip across six thousand years to resurrect Hirocon, but you did it." Merlin made it clear that he would give no quarter. "Like it or not, Mike, it's you that has to do it."

"That has to do what?"

"To finish the damned book, Mike! You have to go to Argonia and finish the ninth chapter."

"Well what's in the ninth chapter?"

"A war: One that will be lost if you don't fight."

"Well WHY ME?!"

Merlin waited for Mike to calm down before speaking again. "Do you remember what I said yesterday at your school, Mike?"

"You said a lot of crap yesterday."

Merlin snickered. "Point made. I'm talking about my answer when you asked what I had gotten you involved in."

"Yeah. You said Mica, Zoda and I were all three involved already because of our bloodlines."

"Ah," Dr. J commented. "Now we're getting to my question."

Merlin smiled a small smile as he nodded for Mike to go on.

"And if Mica is descended from Zelda, and Zoda is descended from Dragmire, then…" Mike looked directly into Merlin's eyes. "No. No, no, no. Time out, this is too much."

"You gentlemen are the descendants of Jonas," Merlin insisted, "The sole survivor of Camelot. Jonas was the son of Gawain, Gawain was descended from Pendragon, and Pendragon was the elder son of Link." Merlin closed his eyes momentarily as if to shield himself from the pain of the memory.

The room fell silent once again, until Dennis broke the silence with a faint laugh. "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Are you trying to tell me that we," he motioned wide with his hand to himself and the other two Jones', "are descended from an Argonian? Even after everything else you've told me today-"

"Actually it makes sense," ventured Dr. J, the _Advocatus Diabolii _of the three. "After all, _Eshca-Leboor_ chose Link, and here stands Mike, with a weapon that, according to its markings, is the same weapon."

"Yes, well, about that, you seem to be forgetting the little logistical detail that _Eshca-Leboor_ was a sword, and this thing," he thrust an angry finger at the Super Nova "is not. Besides, I still don't understand what's so damned important about that sword."

"Then explain how Mike can use the psionic gift of the Argonians," Dr. J fired back.

"There have been reports of things like that before," Dennis countered feebly. "The supermarket tabloids are full of-"

"Yes, we all know what the supermarket tabloids are full of, Dennis. And I know for a fact you're not stupid enough to believe most of that paranormal garbage."

"I'm also not stupid enough to believe I'm part alien, Steve. I mean, listen to this story! Steve, in all your years of studying ruins have you ever found anything to make you believe aliens ever visited Earth."

Dr. J stood up and straightened his shirt. "A little over a year ago, actually, in the South Seas. I'm sure Mike just finished explaining this to you."

"This is nuts!" Mike shouted over the two, quieting them down. "Now," he said slowly as Dennis and Dr. J took their seats again. "Merlin, look. I've said this before, but you've got the wrong guy. I have a hard time believing that I'm descended from an alien hero. I have a hard time believing that I'm 'destined' or whatever to be some kind of interstellar hero. And I have a REAL hard time believing that a war is going to be won or lost by me going to Argonia or staying."

"The only place Mike is going," Dennis said defiantly, "is home to get ready for baseball practice this afternoon, and then to tend to his weekend chores. I'm not going to entertain this baloney about fighting a war to save the universe or whatever you just said. It's madness!"

Merlin leveled his gaze squarely at Dennis. "Mr. Jones," he began.

"That's 'doctor,'" Dennis failed to keep a note of offense out of his voice at the dropped honorative.

"Before half an hour ago, you had no idea that your son had done anything more this summer than enjoy a two month vacation to a tropical paradise. You had no idea how important a role your own son played, and is destined to play yet again, in the history of more worlds than just your own. Do not, then, lecture me on what is mad and what is sane."

"I can assure you," Dennis spat back, "that knowing what's mad and what's sane is my job, and I'm very, VERY good at it. And don't you lecture me about what my son does and does not have to do!"

Merlin pursed his lips and shrugged. "Suit yourself then." His eyes turned to Mike. "But know this, Mike: like it or not, you're going to Argonia."

"Are you threatening my son?" Dennis growled.

"You misunderstand me, good sir," Merlin chuckled. "I meant in my travels I've visited several points in what to you would be the future, and trust me. Mike is going to Argonia, and soon. Next time I'm there I'll bring back a history book to prove it." He paused contemplatively. "Or should that be 'next time I'm then' instead of 'there?'"

None of the three responded. Indeed, none of them could.

"Well, in any case," Merlin said, dismissing his linguistic dilemma with a wave of his hand. "I've imposed on you long enough, Gentlemen, and you have things to do, and in some cases," he looked straight at Mike, "preparations to make. And so, without further ado, adieu." The air around Merlin glowed brightly orange for a moment and then, as when he appeared, a sweeping whirlwind filled the room and the wizard disappeared, leaving only a diminutive white rodent where he stood. The rodent soon scurried away, and the wind died down.

An empty silence filled the room, and the three Jones' looked back and forth between one another. "So what now," Dennis finally asked, looking at Mike as he did so.

Mike, for his part, stared at the spot where Merlin had just been. "You know," he fought to keep the bewilderment out of his voice as he spoke. "Not even twelve hours ago, I woke up from what I thought was a random nightmare, and put on a video of a _Star Trek_ episode about a psionic teenager, hoping it would help me sleep. At that time I hadn't talked to Mica since she left Earth, I still thought Zoda was dead, and I thought my life was mostly getting back to normal. Now I have a wizard from the past telling me I'm part alien, a girl from the other side of the galaxy telling me Zoda is still alive, and the dreams all turn out to be real. D'you know what I'm thinking now?"

"What's that?" Dr. J asked.

Mike shook his head, his eyes never leaving the spot where Merlin disappeared. "I should've put on _Trouble with Tribbles_ instead."


	5. Chapter 5: The Alliance Remnant

Chapter Five: The Alliance Remnant

'_New Argo City' Shelter; Argo City, Argonia_

The tunnels of the 'New Argo City' shelter were fairly straightforward. One tunnel led to an open cavern, that usually led to another tunnel, with only an occasional deviation formed by a divided magma flow in ages past. There was only one entrance, which made guarding the shelter against outsiders an easy task. It also made finding a single person amid the fewer than a hundred occupants usually equally easy. _So why_, Codren Krin skulked, _can't I find Moraigne, just when it's the most important? _The shelter's 'armory' (which was really little more than a smaller cavern hollowed out of the side of a larger one, where the survivors stored what few weapons they had managed to scavenge or jury-rig together) was usually a good place to start when he needed to find Delvan. If not there, than the 'communications center,' (an equally unimpressive and tragic little collection of archaic equipment held together by the sheer force of will of its technicians and only useful for the occasional message from another colony of survivors) would usually be the next guess. This time, however, the reason for the frantic search had originated in that very same communications center.

_And where the bloody hell is Delvan? Holy Sisters, can't the man ever stay in one place long enough to be found? _Codren reminded himself as the thought occurred to him that the answer to that, a resounding 'NO,' along with Moraigne's refusal to let any of the survivors do so either, had long been the reason for the continued survival of the small band of refugees. _Yes, but this is one of those times I need him FOUND!_ After fuming over the colony's missing leader for a few minutes, Codren slowed his pace slightly. He realized with a start that in his search for Moraigne he had traversed the entire shelter and was now fast approaching the one part of the shelter he wanted to go nowhere near: the entrance. True, with the Hive for all intents and purposes wiped out, and Zoda having shown no interest in the planet's ruins for nearly a decade, there was little chance of being seen by anything if he stepped out from the shelter's protective walls. Still, one could never be too careful. With that in mind he stopped twenty paces short of the entrance, staying just outside the oval of greenish light formed by the Emerald Moon shining down on the entrance, and waited for a moment in silence. That silence though, was broken by another sound. It was the splashing sound of a footfall in a puddle.

A tidal puddle. The sound was coming from outside.

With practiced stealth, Codren drew his blaster, a white-bodied Guaren Engineering Plasma Blaster, and checked its charge meter. It was fully charged, with fifty shots remaining before its next recharge. Smaller and sleeker than the Kilarrij Static Pistol, packing less punch, Codren preferred it nonetheless for the increased firing capacity and extended range. That range, he hoped, would be put to good use this time.

The sound came again, and closer. Whoever it was, they were approaching the shelter, in a direct path. A thousand ideas flashed through Codren's mind, each worse than the last: A surviving Aparoid, somehow disconnected from the Hive? One of the continent's predators, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout of Zoda's attack? Or possibly one of the Zodas themselves? Holding his breath, Codren crouched behind a stalagmite for cover and aimed his weapon directly at the entrance. He considered momentarily that he should raise an alarm to the others, but decided against it. Perhaps he would get lucky and the source of the sound would pass harmlessly by the shelter, ignorant of its true nature. And if the sound was an intruder on approach, then the sound of weapons fire would alert the others soon enough.

The sound changed to the plodding sound of feet leaving tracks in the sand on the hill leading up to the cave. _Whatever it is_, Codren realized, _it'll be at that entrance shortly_. A shadow stretched across the entrance, cleaving the green-light ellipse as its source approached. The footfalls grew louder and louder as the intruder drew closer and closer…

…and closer. Sweat poured down Codren's face. He had only been in combat a few times, and only then alongside the entire colony. Now he was alone. _Why did I even leave the communications center?_

The sound drew closer still. Now it was barely ten paces outside the entrance. Nine paces… eight paces…

"You can come out from behind that rock, Krin," Moraigne called as he drew within five paces of the entrance. "Your teeth are chattering so loudly I could've Dandak's-eyed you from halfway up the beach if the cave mouth wasn't in the way."

Cringing, Codren lowered his pistol and stood up, walking out from behind the rock pillar just as Moraigne stepped into the cave entrance. "Delvan," he sighed, trying to salvage some level of dignity by turning the fault back onto Moraigne. "What in bluest Hell are you doing out here?"

"Going for a walk," Moraigne replied sarcastically. "Little Miss Refugee Princess wanted to go wandering off alone, so I followed her to make sure nothing happened to her. But apparently Hirocon is better suited for guarding her," Codren couldn't help but notice the increased intensity of Moraigne's sarcasm as he mentioned Hirocon. Furthermore, if Moraigne believed that the eight refugees were who they claimed to be, he felt sure there had been other motives behind Moraigne's decision to follow Mica. "But that aside," Moraigne switched topics before Codren could latch onto an accusing thread, "what are you doing this close to the entrance? And don't say standing guard either, at least not while your knees are still shaking."

Codren suppressed a snort, standing straight and quickly reestablishing what little bearing he was able to muster. "I was looking for you, actually."

"Yeah, well you found me. What?"

"You need to come to the communications center, and fast. We're getting a radio signal."

"Gaaah," Moraigne sneered, stepping fully into the cave. "Whatta the Nabby's want this time?"

Codren shook his head. "It's not from Naboorucos, Moraigne," he said meaningfully.

Moraigne's brow furrowed. "Rutople then?"

Again, Codren shook his head.

"Well where?" Moraigne rolled his one good eye. "Come on, tell me."

Codren waited a sharp second to ensure he had Moraigne's full attention. "It's coming from orbit, boss."

"What?!"

"You heard right. It's a signal from orbit."

"But there aren't any satellites left up there," Moraigne said. "And none of the defense stations survived Zoda's attack, so…" his voice trailed off worriedly.

Codren grinned. "I don't think this one's Zoda, if that's what you're thinking."

"Why not?"

"Zoda always flew a ship with an Argonian transponder. Remember?"

Moraigne looked confused. "Then, this isn't an Argonian transponder?"

"Nope. But it's an old Alliance signal."

Moraigne chewed on the implications of that for a second or two. "Then that means… Holy Sisters!" Before Codren could go any further, Moraigne was half-running to the communications center, a full hail of questions flying over his shoulder to Codren as he went. "When did you first pick up the signal?"

"Less than an hour ago," Codren reported. "But they could have been hailing before that and still have been outside of our receiving range. Without a functioning quantum radio-"

"What does it say?"

Codren decided not to make an issue of the interruption. "Eh, it's still garbled. We're trying to clean up the signal, but no luck so far."

"Friendly?"

"No idea."

Moraigne slowed down. "The first extra-systemic contact in over a century and we don't even know if they're friendly or not?"

"I'll put it this way," Codren huffed, finally locking step beside Moraigne. "If they're friendly and we can't manage a response of some kind, how long will they stay friendly?"

"You've got a point," Moraigne agreed. Little else was said until the two reached the communications center. There, anyone among the survivors with any technical prowess at all suddenly seemed to be slaving feverishly over a tangled mass of primitive-looking wires and speakers, some of which had knobs and switches sometimes held onto control panels with adhesive tape. "Somebody talk to me," Moraigne demanded of the group.

"We're getting a signal," explained a dwarfish technician with slicked-back hair. "It's coming from-"

"Yes, I know that part. Tell me what you're doing about it."

The technician turned quickly back to the wiry relics. "We're trying to clean up the signal. Listen." He tentatively adjusted some of the more sensitive-looking controls, causing a few sparks to fly and an ominous tuft of smoke to rise from within the hulk. Amidst the static and feedback loops, Moraigne was able to discern a few syllables.

_"Atten… … neeancom… … …Cur…illiard… …neereanar… … avox… …spond."_

Moraigne snorted. "What do you make of it?"

Codren shook his head. "No idea. This is clearer than it was when I went looking for you. At least now you can tell it's someone talking."

"Hang on," the technician said, still fiddling with the controls. "Let me try rerouting this-"

"Spare us the techno-babble," Moraigne urged. "Whatever you're going to do, just do it." Moraigne was about to issue further instructions when a pair of breathless voices from the tunnel leading into the communications center caught his attention, and he gritted his teeth. Hirocon and Mica's voices, he realized.

"Delvan," Hirocon called out as soon as he laid eyes on the group's leader. "Have you heard anything from-"

"The ship?" Moraigne turned around and faced Hirocon, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. "Yes, thank you. We're way ahead of you. I think the people are in need of my leadership now, so why don't you sit down and stay out of the way."

The irony of Moraigne's choice of words was not lost on Hirocon, nor on Mica. "Moraigne, stop it," Mica yelled. "Be serious."

"Uh, Moraigne," the technician interrupted. "I think we've got something."

_"Attention, Argonian… …Colonel Billiard Grey.. … …Dreadnought Havoc's… …respond."_

The room was silent, except for the staticy transmission and the sounds of electrical equipment shorting out from over exertion. Though no one said a word, everyone knew that they were all thinking the same thing: _The visitors speak Alliance Common._

The slick-haired technician dashed across the chamber and began to dig madly through a pile of disconnected equipment. "Mouthpiece, mouthpiece," he shouted as he dug. "Somebody get a mouthpiece. We need to try and respond."

"Way ahead of you," answered another technician, holding up an ancient-looking microphone, plugged precariously into an equally ancient-looking section of the radio equipment.

"I'll take that," Codren insisted, picking up the device and pressing the switch that would enable him (in theory) to broadcast. "Orbital vessel, this is New Argo City. Do you copy?"

Hirocon shook his head and glanced in Moraigne's direction. From the look on Moraigne's face it was clear that despite having led the survivors through a twenty year fight for their lives, leadership on a diplomatic front still rested far outside his expertise. "Do you have any way of focussing the receiver dish on the ship?" He finally asked, deciding he would have to take the reins.

"We don't know where the ship is," Codren explained. "Satellite radar was the first thing to go in Zoda's attack. Remember?"

Hirocon closed his eyes and focussed his thoughts on the approaching vessel. As his focus narrowed, he approached a control panel which appeared slightly better maintained than the others, inasmuch as it had no visible adhesive tape, and began to work the controls.

"Sir, I-" Codren began plaintively, but Mica held up a hand to stop him.

"Hang on, I know what he's trying to do. Just let him try," she urged, and Codren backed down, but not without a whimper as he watched the exiled Regent at the console.

The speakers began to whine, then to hum, and then to whine again as Hirocon adjusted the receptor dish. Finally, the message played again, as clearly as if the source were standing in the chamber with them.

_"Attention, Argonian Command. This is Colonel Billiard Grey of the Cornerian Army, commanding the Dreadnought _Havoc's Cry._ Please respond."_

Hirocon turned toward a stunned band of Argonian survivors. "Well, it worked."

"Um… uh, who's Argonian Command?" Moraigne asked nervously.

"Us, I think," Codren answered uncertainly.

_"Attention, Argonian Command. Do you read? Dammit, is anyone alive down there?!"_

Hirocon turned to look at Moraigne and found his face grayer than it had likely been since the day of Zoda's attack. "You planning to answer them, Delvan?"

Moraigne said nothing.

"Well then, allow me." Hirocon rose from his console, walked toward the speaker and paused for a split second while the technician in front of the speaker stepped out of his way as if the speaker had suddenly caught a highly contagious disease. Slowly, Hirocon depressed the switch. "_Havoc's Cry_, this is Regent Hirocon Argo of Argonia. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear from you."

_"From the way your planet looks from up here, I think we have a lot to talk about, Regent. What are your coordinates?"_

"Stand by." Hirocon looked inquiringly at Moraigne. "What do you think, Moraigne?'

Moraigne looked skeptical. "I don't know if broadcasting our coordinates is such a safe idea. It might be the Cult, come back to finish the job."

"I think Zoda would be able to track us here without having to go to all this trouble," Codren countered.

Moraigne wrung his hands together. "That's true. I… I don't know." He stared back at Hirocon. "Regent, it's your decision."

Hirocon nodded slowly, understanding how much Moraigne was admitting by saying that. _Well then, now that that's settled…_ "Colonel, we're sending coordinates now."

_"Roger, Argonian Command. We'll send down a landing party to meet you. We've got some questions for you, and it sounds like you have a few for us."_

_Cornerian Dreadnought _Havoc's Cry_; Bridge _

Looking toward the back of the bridge, Colonel Billiard Grey made a slicing motion with his hand across his throat, signaling his radio operator to cut the transmission. The officer obeyed, and Grey turned his eyes back toward the forward bridge window, a meter tall, horizontal strip of transparent plasteel that ran the length of the bridge's two forward walls. Shaking his head in disbelief, he unconsciously took a few steps toward the window. The blue, green and beige disc that was Hyrune three, Argonia, continued to grow larger as the ship approached it, contrasted starkly by the haunting green of its moon right beyond. It didn't take an expert planetologist to recognize that something was wrong here. The clouds were discolored with a hint of brown, the seas varied in hues from deep blues to indigoes and even purples in the southern hemisphere. Parts of the smaller of the planet's two supercontinents were sprawling stretches of black rock, devoid of plant life and so vast that they were visible even from this great distance. Most chilling of all, Grey realized, was the half of the disc facing away from the sun: the half that should have been in shadow, but instead glowed faintly with a barely discernible phosphorescence. Something was horribly out of place.

"It's worse than Zoness," Grey heard a sultry female voice comment, and Grey frowned. The voice had come from Brevet Major Katarina 'Katt' Monroe, the hastily assigned fill-in for the post of Grey's Executive Officer. A civilian blockade runner field-commissioned for this assignment by the Cornerian Military Governor, General Arnault Pepper, Monroe did not fit Grey's usual profile for a field-grade officer. Aside from that, Grey couldn't deny he preferred her the same way he preferred most women: with her mouth shut, nor was that his only reason for questioning her value in his crew. Still, Grey knew she was right this time. "I thought I'd gotten used to seeing what the Aparoids could do to a world," Monroe went on, "but it's like they took this one personal."

"It does seem to have been the hardest hit," Grey admitted, and then allowed a note of optimistic disbelief to enter his voice. "And still, there are survivors down there. That didn't happen on any of the other Alliance planets."

"What can I say? Argonians have always been tigers," Katt said, seeming to hang on the word 'tigers.' Grey frowned again, this time rolling his eyes. This was what he found the most aggravating about his Executive Officer: the way she seemed to relish every opportunity she got to remind him that she was the only one in the crew not from the same subspecies. In the all-Canine 1073rd Deep Space Battalion (the so-nicknamed "Dogs of War"), she was a Feline, which Grey thought was probably the reason behind her fondness for shortening her name to Katt.

As Grey harrumphed over Katt's small joke, a gold-furred lieutenant at the communications platform spoke up. "Sir, I think you should see this."

Welcoming any distraction from Katt's humor, Grey covered the distance to the communications console in fewer than six steps (with Katt, of course, close behind). "Whatta you have, Lieutenant?"

"Well sir, remember that distress call we started picking up earlier?"

Grey snorted. "Remember it? It's the only reason I bothered trying to make contact. Otherwise I wouldn't've believed there was anyone alive on that rock. But we answered them, so what's wrong now?"

"Well, sir, it's still broadcasting."

Grey gave his head a single shake. "What? Why would they broadcast after we've already answered?"

"That's just it, sir," answered the lieutenant. "We haven't answered yet."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, sir, the signal that carried whoever you just spoke to came from the surface. The distress signal, on the other hand, is coming from the moon."

Grey looked down at the computer panel in front of the lieutenant, seeking confirmation, then thought better of it. Communications equipment on capital ships was confusing to him, having been a fighter pilot in his junior officer days, and he couldn't make heads or tails of the display. "You're saying there's another group of survivors? And they're out there?" He pointed out the window in the direction of the small moon for emphasis.

"Looks that way, sir?"

"Any response from them?"

The lieutenant merely shook his head.

Grey straightened up and thought for a moment, twisting his right whiskers between his fingers as he did so. "Any ideas?"

"I'll take a lander and check out the moon signal, Bill," Katt stated. "You go ahead land the ship, and talk with their Command."

_Bill? Who does she think she's talking too?_ Grey fumed as he turned, with eyebrows raised, to face Katt. "Fine then, _Major_ Monroe," he said dangerously, placing emphasis on Katt's lower rank. "And when I get back, you and I are going to have another talk about proper use of protocol on duty." As Katt wrinkled her comparatively small nose and twitched her whiskers in distaste, Grey turned back to the lieutenant, who was now awkwardly staring at his toes, clearly uncomfortable being party to a dispute between senior officers. "Keep trying, lieutenant. Security, alert the armory and the flight deck. Tell them to get a lander ready, and equipment for a First Contact party of six. Shepperd and Dane, round up three guards. You're with me." Without another word, Grey turned to the door at the back of the bridge and quickly exited. With precision that would have done credit on a parade ground two Canine Security Officers, each the penultimate blend of weapons, muscle, combat training, and teeth, fell quickly into step behind Grey. Their stations, not being particularly essential to the operation of the ship, remained unfilled. The ship's automation would soon register the inactivity and take over. "Lombardi actually ran with her?" Grey snarled as the door whooshed shut behind the three. "Lombardi? McCloud's own wingman? And _she's_ the best he could do?"

"If I remember right," one of the two answered back, "Lombardi did five years in the stockade on Fortuna for trying to blast her out of the stars after they split up. If McCloud hadn't pulled a few strings with Pepper, he'd've stayed there."

Grey shook his head. "Damn shame he didn't succeed."

_Argo City, Argonia_

Barely an hour after speaking with the Cornerian visitors, a party of ten Argonians stood on top of the cliffs outside the New Argo City cave shelter as the Cornerian Dreadnought _Havoc's Cry_ extended her landing gear and slowly descended onto the rocky flats. Hirocon and Mica were among the ten, as were Codren and Moraigne. The other six consisted of the six children who had accompanied Mica to Earth. A precaution, as Hirocon had explained it to Mica. After all, the survivors had never seen off-worlders who weren't invaders, while the refugees on Earth had been exposed to the kindness of the Coralcolans. Hirocon thought having them here for what nearly amounted to a First Contact situation might help ease tension, and the Sisters knew there would already be enough tension.

"Just what planet did they say they were from?" Moraigne asked Hirocon without turning to face him.

"Corneria," Hirocon answered in kind.

"I still can't remember ever hearing of it. What do we know about it?"

"Well, it's-" Hirocon was interrupted by a child's voice.

"It's the fourth planet of the system surrounding the binary stars Lylat and Solar, approximately eight light years from our own system," explained Rute, one of the children. "It's inhabited by more than a hundred different subspecies, but at the time of the last formal Alliance Council, one race, the Canines, had assumed control of most of the military and governmental aspects of the planet. It-"

"Alright, alright kid. I get the picture," Moraigne rolled his good eye. "Sheez, what are you? Some kind of scholar?"

Rute nodded. "Well, I always hoped to become the Royal Historian one day."

Mica chuckled, and Hirocon glanced out the corner of his eye hoping to catch a glimpse of Moraigne's annoyed look before turning his attention back to the now-landed dreadnought.

Zoda's armada had been composed of junkers cobbled together from spare parts left to rust in Argonian shipyards. As such, none of the ten had ever seen a truly foreign spacecraft, and a Cornerian Dreadnought was an impressive enough craft even for those familiar with it. Large enough to dwarf the largest building in Argo City, even before Zoda's attack, its main body had a slightly hour-glass shaped profile when viewed from the front, with a forward-opening ventral hangar bay running half the length of the ship's underbelly. It's four wings extended outward from the ship in a low-profiled X, with a single dorsal tail fin. A neck-like projection from the upper section of the bow held the cockpit, making the vessel somewhat reminiscent of a four winged goose carrying a package underneath. The lines of the vessel's hull were hard and angular, with no curved edges visible anywhere. Two colossal laser cannons, mounted conspicuously just above the hangar bay, seemed the craft's only weaponry, though it's three equally oversized stern-mounted engines and dauntingly visible armor made the ship look no less capable of outrunning or simply enduring anything it could not outgun.

"And you're sure these guys are friendly," Moraigne asked worriedly as the dreadnought's repulsorlift landers whirred to a stop.

"I think if they were hostile," Mica said in awe, "they would've done something by now." The other nine seemed to agree, and nothing more was said until the hissing sound of an opening airlock was heard from the ship. "Well, this is it," Mica said, directing her next comment mostly at Moraigne. "Try not to cause an interstellar incident."

The disembarking ramp extended from just beneath the forward launch door of the hangar bay, and a group of six bipedal beings descended, all dressed in immaculate red uniforms with some form of blaster pistols in low-slung tactical holsters. As they approached the Argonians, Mica observed, as Rute had theorized, that they all appeared to be from Corneria's Canine subspecies, evidenced from their elongated snouts, gray and brown mottled fur, and drooping ears. The tallest and most decorated member of the party wore a pair of solar-shielded flight glasses that fit snugly on top of his snout, and a nameplate reading 'B. Grey.' This was the one who approached Hirocon without hesitation, snapped to attention and raised his hand to the visor of his duravinyl-brimmed flatcap in salute. "Regent Argo, I presume," he said in a semi-deep, resonant voice.

Hirocon bowed at the waist, only briefly taking his eyes off the newcomer. "Welcome to Argonia, Colonel Grey. Your people haven't paid us a visit in some time. Allow me to introduce-"

"Begging your pardon, Excellency," Grey's breach of usual diplomatic nicety drew a double-take from both Mica and Hirocon. "But I'd suggest we continue the formalities within some kind of shelter, for security's sake."

Hirocon turned toward Moraigne, framing his next question as a reminder of fact. "It's your shelter, Delvan."

Moraigne's eye had not left the blaster pistols on the belts of the Cornerians. "Actually," he corrected, still not tearing his eyes away, 'it's the people's shelter, but…" He closed his eyes and shook his head, echoing Mica's thought. "Well, I guess if you were going to waste us you've had plenty of chances. Alright then, inside."

_September 9, 1990_

_Jones Residence; Seattle, Washington_

Mike awoke to the sound of a woman screaming. With reflexes sharpened by his twin trials he leapt to his feet and raised his fists in front of him in a defensive posture, looking about for the source of the scream. It took a moment for Mike to realize he was in his living room, and the scream had come from the T.V, which he had apparently fallen asleep on the couch watching. With a weak laugh, he dropped back onto the couch, picked up the remote from the coffee table in front of him and turned the T.V. off. A brief glance at the clock on the wall over the Home Entertainment Center told him it was 12:26 A.M. "Better get to bed," he murmured. "Gotta be up for church in the morning." He was halfway to his feet when he heard the sound of a microwave going off, followed by the sound of the microwave being opened and shut.

"Oof, hot!" Dennis said as he lifted a bag of popcorn out of the microwave and emptied the still-steaming contents into a large bowl.

"Dad? You're still up?"

"Huh? Oh, good. I was hoping I'd catch you before you went off to sleep."

Mike stretched and yawned. "You barely did," he said after he finished. "I was just heading to my room. What's up?"

Dennis filled his mouth with a handful of popcorn as an excuse not to answer immediately and made his way to the couch, exactly where he sat the previous night. When he finally did speak, it was in a weary half whisper. "Hell of a day, eh?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed without thinking. "One Hell of a day." As he sat back on the couch he winced, expecting the slip to earn him a lecture about his language. Surprisingly enough, none came. Instead, there was only awkward silence.

"Popcorn?" Dennis finally broke the silence, holding the bowl out toward Mike.

"Hmm? Oh, no thanks."

Dennis nodded and placed the bowl on the table in front of him. "It's still kind of sinking in, you know?" he admitted at length. "I mean, time travel and aliens and magic relics and stuff."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Mike said with a nod.

Another awkward silence.

"So, uh…" Dennis clasped his hands together in front of him. "What now?"

"Now?"

"Yeah?"

"You mean, like, right now?"

"No. I mean…' Dennis made a wheel-like movement with his hands, a habit when he found himself in search of words. "What now, as in… what's next? I mean, all that stuff Merlin said about the 'ninth chapter,' or whatever."

"Oh, yeah. That."

"Yeah. The little 'saving more worlds then one' part."

"Oh. Yeah, well," Mike rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't even know _what_ to think there."

"You're not actually, well…" Dennis stopped and looked expectantly at Mike, as if hoping Mike would finish his thought.

"Going to Argonia?"

"Right. I mean, you can't, right?"

Mike said nothing.

"Can you?" Dennis pressed on.

"You're right, Dad. I can't." Mike stood up restlessly. "To tell the truth, I want to. No, scratch that. I don't want to, but I feel like I'm supposed to."

"Now wait just a minute," it was Dennis who stood up now. "Weren't you the one asking 'why me?' I mean, it sounds to me like this is about to blow up into some huge, millennium-spanning, intergalactic war! It's over your head, Mike. It's over all our heads."

Mike spun around. "Yeah? Well so was Zoda, Dad. And you're right. I don't know how I'm supposed to do any good, but the entire planet of Argonia tried to fight Zoda, and he creamed them all. But me? I took him out single-handed. Now tell me that was luck, Dad. Luck, or coincidence, or whatever."

Dennis slowly took his seat while Mike cooled down. "You don't actually believe all that 'it's your destiny' crap, do you?"

"I don't know what I believe."

Dennis looked away, reaching down to pet Sigmund as the cat pranced by, apparently curious about the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. "Well, I guess for all my worrying about you going off on some hair-brained crusade to save the galaxy, I have to remember you've already done it twice."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but this time I have time to stop and think what a stupid thing I'm getting into. The other two times happened by accident. It wasn't like coach walked up to me and went 'Jones, big favor. Needja to go save the world. Thanks.'" Mike looked at his father quizzically. "Hey, wait a minute. Aren't you supposed to be trying to talk me out of doing anything reckless? Telling me I need to put it out of my mind and get back to school?"

Dennis swallowed his mouthful of popcorn and shrugged. "Mike, I told you. It's still sinking in. I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you. Yes, any parent would be scared by the idea of their child going off to war on the opposite side of the galaxy. On the other hand, most parents don't have King Arthur's wizard personally deliver the message that their child is supposed to save the world." Mike muttered his agreement, and Dennis repeated his original question. "So what are you going to do?"

A plaintive whine from the foot of the stairs drew their attention, and both turned to find Clara Jones standing there, her chestnut hair in disarray and her nightgown hastily thrown about her supple body (not very modestly, Mike noted with aggravation and looked away in embarrassment). "Mike? Denny? Is that you?" She asked groggily.

"Yes, honey," Dennis said. "It's us. Everything ok?"

"Ok? She asked, whining. "Dennis, it's half past midnight. The T.V. is on, and loud enough to wake the dead, and I've been up all night waiting for you to come to bed. Besides, summer is over and Mike needs to get back on a school schedule, which means no more staying up all night and sleeping all day."

Dennis nodded. "You're right, you're right." He glanced briefly in Mike's direction, then turned back to Clara. "You go on ahead, I'll be up in a few."

"Don't keep me waiting too long," she said softly before turning to walk back up the stairs.

Dennis watched her until she walked across the doorway into their upstairs bedroom. "D'you think we should tell her?" He addressed Mike.

Mike laughed. "You really think she'd believe it?"

"Did you really think I would?" Dennis looked back at Mike, eyebrows raised. "She should know, Mike. If you do wind up going to Argonia, or aliens come looking for revenge, or if the C.I.A. shows up at the door with a lot of weird questions I can't answer, I don't want to be stuck explaining to her then that her boy is a quantum leaping telepath."

"You're probably right," Mike admitted. "But I think we should take her over to Uncle Steve's place when we do decide to tell her, which means we'd better do it before his flight back to C Island on Wednesday. After all, he has most of the evidence."

Dennis nodded and stood up. "Well, either way, what we need to worry about now is sleep. We'll talk more about this after church."

"Yeah," Mike answered with another yawn, and the two Jones' each plodded off to their respective beds for the night. Sleep came easily after their long day, but for Mike it was far from restful.

_Next Morning_

_New Argo City Shelter; Argo City, Argonia_

"As you can see, Colonel," Hirocon said unnecessarily as he, Moraigne and Mica accompanied the Cornerian commander through the rubble that had once been Argo City, "we've had a rough go of it the last few decades." The duracrete surfaces of the streets still bore the scars of Zoda's bombardment twenty years before, and the continuum of rubble that lined the shattered streets was interrupted only by the occasional lifeless insectoid hulk of an Aparoid.

Grey nodded. "Yeah, it looks like the Aparoids really did a number on you."

A sorrowful look passed between the three Argonians, but none of the three made any effort to correct Grey's logic.

"But believe it or not," Grey went on, "you were lucky. From the progress of the infestation, I'd say Argonia was just about the last planet in the Alliance to get hit. That's probably the only thing that saved you."

"They didn't come to Argonia until about six months ago," Moraigne clarified. "But Colonel, you call this saved?"

Grey removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "When the 'Roids first came to the Lylat system, we put out a distress call to the Alliance, but no one came to help. So, after the 'Roid homeworld was destroyed, Cornerian Command assigned us to survey the other nine systems in the Alliance and find out why." He paused mournfully. "We went to eight star systems, and found every one of them a lifeless wasteland. By the time we got to Argonia, we expected to find the same thing. So you see what I mean when I say you were lucky." After this, Grey put his glasses back on his face.

Hirocon nodded. "You very nearly _did_ find the same thing here."

"Excuse me," Mica interrupted, "but what was that about the Hive homeworld being destroyed?"

The sorrow faded from Grey's face, replaced by pride. "Yeah, by Corneria's Finest."

Moraigne raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You mean to tell me the Cornerian Army destroyed their planet?"

A fraction of Grey's pride faded. "Well, not the Army, actually. It was a freelance mercenary team of five elite fighter pilots. Actually, make that four. One of them is semi-retired. They basically hot-footed their way past the entire Aparoid Hive, then sacrificed their flagship to blast the homeworld to Hell." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of _Havoc's Cry_. "Same design of ship as that one, in case you're wondering, so you can imagine what happened to the planet when the fission reactor blew."

Moraigne slowly nodded. "That's why the bastards shut off. When your mercs took out their homeworld they must've destroyed the hive mind somehow."

Grey nodded once. "The thing we still don't understand is how they got through the Frontier in the first place. Cornerian Intelligence has a file on a single Aparoid finding its way through decades ago, but we still don't know how." He slowed his pace slightly before continuing heavily, "We hoped, since the Frontier was mostly Argonia's idea in the first place, that you might be able to help us shed some light on that."

"We may have a theory," Hirocon glowered.

"I thought you might. Care to tell me?"

Mica shuddered. No matter how many times she heard the account of Zoda's exile, his return, and his assault on her world, she now felt certain it would give her chills.

"A quarter of a century ago," Hirocon began his abbreviated tale, "a murderous heretic named Zoda gathered himself a following and started a reign of terror. We captured him early on, luckily enough, and exiled him. What we didn't count on was that he would return five years later and nearly wipe us out."

Grey's ears raised slightly in surprise. "Then this wasn't all the work of the Aparoids."

Hirocon shook his head. "No. In fact, the reason the Hive didn't come here earlier is probably that there wasn't enough life left to interest them. Whatever the case, we think that when Zoda had taken…" Hirocon's voice caught in his throat for a moment, and Mica noticed him rubbing the back of his right hand as he hesitated. "When he had taken everything he could use, we think he destroyed the Frontier as an act of vengeance."

Grey nodded. "Twenty years, yeah. That puts the timeframe about right," he said off-handedly. "It's funny though."

"What's that?" Hirocon asked. By this time the group was standing on the remains of the street where the Regency Council Building had once stood.

"Well, you say you exiled this maniac, and then he came back five years later, and I couldn't help but think that sounds a lot like what's been going on in the Lylat System."

Hirocon stopped walking and looked directly at Grey, waiting for him to stop as well. "Is that so?" He asked intensely.

Grey took the cue and stopped walking, though he seemed to suddenly be quite focussed on the black vinyl toes of his shoes. "It's not worth discussing."

"Nice try," Hirocon said, crossing his arms and leaning against the remnant of a building's steel wall.

Grey unlocked his shoe-focussed gaze and looked up over the top of his solar goggles at Hirocon. "It really is mostly a Cornerian matter," he insisted.

"Then why don't we make it an Alliance matter?" Mica's question stopped the three men cold.

"What was that, Highness?" Grey glanced in her direction.

"You said yourself that you came here to find out why the Alliance didn't come to Corneria's aid, didn't you?" Grey's ears pointed upward again as Mica spoke. "And we," she motioned with her hand toward the other two Argonians, "have thought that we might have had more of a fighting chance against Zoda if the Alliance hadn't crumbled. I think it's time we put it back together."

Moraigne snorted in derision and shook his head, and Grey responded. "It's really not that simple, Princess. Remember? Eight of the systems that made the Alliance are uninhabitable, their populations extinct. Your world and ours are really the last remnants-"

"All the more reason why you need to tell us," Mica insisted. "Two centuries ago we thought the Ten System Alliance to be invincible. When we felt threatened, we built the Frontier, a barrier so powerful even _They_, the dreaded Aparoid Hive couldn't breach it. Then we enclosed ten entire systems in this barrier, a feat unequalled even by the greatest engineers of the two centuries since. There was nothing we couldn't do. Now, though, we've broken our ties. The Frontier has fallen, and the Aparoids threatened us again, only to be wiped out, and by a member of the Alliance no less. But we still have problems Colonel Billiard Grey, because Zoda, the tyrant who did this to Argonia, and who probably brought the Frontier down in the first place, is still out there somewhere. And now, when we've learned just how vulnerable the Alliance really is, you say that what happened on Argonia somehow reminds you of something that happened in the Lylat System?" Here she paused for effect. "And you mean to tell us that it's 'just a Cornerian matter, not worth discussing?' Colonel, I say if there's a connection between Zoda and anyone at all in the Lylat system, no matter who, then we ALL need to know about it." A proud grin spread over Hirocon's face as his daughter finished her speech. _Even Moraigne looks impressed_, she allowed herself to think. In the first few moments after Mica spoke, the only one whose countenance showed no change was Colonel Grey. Finally, he bared his teeth in what she guessed was a conspiratorial grin and made a noise that sounded like 'woof-oof-oof.' It took Mica a moment to realize the Cornerian Officer was laughing.

"Well said, Princess," Grey admitted with a nod. "Well said, fair enough. The short version of the story then, which is what you're going to get because the long one takes up a dozen volumes, begins thirty-four years ago, with a Cornerian bioengineer by the name of Doctor Andross Oikinny. Oikinny was a specialist in biological weapons, and he was contracted by the Army to create a vaccine for a strain of Venomian Cerebral Mites that had become a favorite weapon by certain pirate factions. While working on this project, Oikinny unleashed a mutated form of the mites that wiped out nearly eighty-five percent of the system's population. This is where the story starts to get twisted, but the reason I thought of it is just this. After the Army captured Oikinny, we exiled him to the second planet in the system. It's the system's prison planet. We call it 'Venom.'"

Hirocon narrowed his eyes. "You're right, there are certainly parallels."

"See why I thought of it? But that's not all," Grey went on. "Five years later we learned from a far-too-costly intelligence report that Andross had set himself up as a dictator, taking the title 'Emperor of Venom.' Cornerian Command decided to ignore this, even though we lost two of our best pilots obtaining that report." Grey's eyes took on a glazed quality. "One by death in battle, and one by defection." He shook himself out of the memory-induced haze. "Anyway, that turned out to be a colossal mistake, because thirteen years ago Oikinny decided Venom wasn't enough, and that he wanted to take over the whole system. He'd've done it to, if it hadn't been for McCloud and… eh, for one of our mercenary units." Grey shook his head and sighed. "And truth-be-known, it still wasn't until the Aparoid invasion earlier this year that we were really rid of the last fragments of his empire."

It was Moraigne's turn for questions. "How did he get so powerful on a prison planet? I mean, I assume it was also interdicted, right?"

Grey sighed. "You know, that's one we're kind of hazy on ourselves. Getting his hands on modern technology on Venom would have been tough, but I'll admit, not impossible. Arms smugglers and blockade runners could have been persuaded to do business with anyone in those days. Still, the main reason for his power didn't have anything to do with his empire. It was something about Andross himself. And to be honest, I don't think you'll believe me if I tell you."

"You'd be surprised what we'll believe at this point," Hirocon groaned.

Grey started to respond, but was interrupted by a shrill beeping sound from a device on his wrist. Reaching up to bring the device closer to his face, he pressed a red button on the side closest to his hand. "Grey here," he greeted.

A female voice answered from the device. "Bill, this is Katt. We checked on that signal at the moon, and we've made it back to the ship."

"Roger, _Monroe_," Grey emphasized the name, having winced at the use of his first name for an official message. "Any survivors?"

"Well," the woman referred to as 'Monroe' said, "there was only one, barely conscious. We've got him in med-bay now. But there's one other thing."

Hirocon and Moraigne locked eyes suspiciously for a moment. "A survivor," Hirocon mouthed silently. "On the moon?" Moraigne looked back blankly, shaking his head and shrugging.

Grey rolled his eyes. "Of course. There's always one other thing. What is it?"

"There's a message here from General Pepper, Priority One, and I've got orders to deliver it to you in person."

"What's the message?"

"Dunno, hon. The General said no one was supposed to see it but you."

Grey snorted. "Fine. Give Russells the bridge and meet me back at the landing site."

"Roger. See you there, tiger. Katt out."

Grey flicked the button near his wrist with a clawed forefinger and snarled as only a Canine could. "If you'll excuse me," he apologized to the three Argonians, "I have to return to the landing site."

"If you don't mind, Colonel," Hirocon quickly interposed, "could we accompany you? I'd very much like to meet this survivor from the moon."

_C Island; South Seas_

_He's late, as usual._ The shamaness of the village Coralcola stabbed the sand impatiently with her driftwood walking stick as she awaited the arrival of her expected visitor. It was morning. The last villagers would awaken soon, and the site the incoming visitor had chosen for the secret rendezvous, the beach on the westward extremity of C Island's southern shore, would be awash with late-rising men from the village, robbed of the better fishing on the inner harbor by earlier risers. It was true, she admitted to herself, that there was not exactly a total need for secrecy. After all, the Shaman was expected to commune with the guardian spirits of the islands. It was her role. Still, she would prefer to exercise a certain amount of discretion about having such a "spirit" appear before her in broad daylight, and in the full view of a curious mob of villagers. There would be no telling that to her visitor though. With a sigh, she reminded herself of her earliest teachings of the virtues of patience, and waited.

…and waited.

…and waited. Finally, as she began to consider taking a seat to rest her aging knees, there was a breeze that did not come off of the sea, then a whirlwind of sand, and a flash of orange light. There, standing before her, was the most ancient guardian of the Islands of the Southern Cross. "I was beginning to fear some evil had befallen you, Merlin," she greeted with as low a bow as her arthritic back would allow.

"No more than has apparently befallen all of us," Merlin answered, bowing likewise. "The years have been kind to you."

"A pity," the shamaness answered after a 'harrumph,' "that I cannot say the same for you, old one."

"How civil."

"I mock you with the truth, and you flatter me with lies. Who is kinder?"

The next 'Harrumph' came from Merlin. "When you stand on a shore half a world away from your home, nineteen hundred and thirty years after your birth, then talk to me about time's effect on you." With that, it was down to business. "You were right to worry, though. I have been to the temple, and the relic was stirring."

"Was?"

"And is, I fear, but it will be harder to find."

"And why is that?"

An air of weariness, which Merlin seemed powerless to stop, darkened the ancient wizard's face as he held up his right hand, palm toward him, displaying what an uninformed observer would have mistaken for a tattoo. It was an equilateral triangle, with one point toward his knuckles. In the center of the triangle was another, proportionate triangular space, dividing the larger triangle into four identical parts, including the space in the center. Of the four triangles, the one in the center seemed empty space, and the two closest to Merlin's wrist were an orange-yellow tint. The fourth, at the 'top' of the triangle, glowed a brilliant golden hue.

The shamaness recoiled a step and, waving her walking staff before her mystically, uttered one of her incantations before returning her eyes to Merlin's face in a mix of anger and fear. "And you befoul this, the most peaceful of the islands, with that? Surely you know better than me of its venom."

"All too well," Merlin confessed. "But I would rather fight its corrupting power in my own soul than see it in the hands of its master's own flesh and blood."

The shamaness dismissed the comment. "The Seed of Hellswine is dead, felled along with his three shadows by the boy."

Merlin shook his head. "Oh, he lives yet. I can assure you of that. Nor has he ever come to Earth. And worse yet, he has the other two."

The shamaness gasped. "Can this be true?"

"Sadly, it is."

"And he comes?"

"Yes, and soon."

The shamaness moaned wearily. "What can we do?"

Merlin bit his lip. "For my part, I will do everything I can to keep the relic far outside Zoda's reach. You, child, need only do one thing."

"And what is that?"

Merlin took a step toward the shamaness, covering the distance she had put between them in recoiling from the sight of the mark. "Speak to the families who took in the children of the Sages, and tell them to keep their spare beds available."

"You believe the Argonians will return?"

Merlin nodded. "I feel sure of it, along with some other visitors from the stars. I give you fair warning, the other visitors may have what your people will think to be the appearance of demons, bodies of both man and beast. Don't be afraid, they will be friends and allies."

"I understand," the shamaness nodded. "But why here?"

At that, Merlin actually managed a smile. "My child, there are some things even we are not given to know."

That undeniable answer seemed satisfactory to the shamaness. "And the boy? Where is he now?"

Merlin glanced eastward at the first rays of sunlight. "Well, let's see. If it's dawn here, then in Seattle… he's probably at church right now with his parents."

"Church?" The shamaness repeated the word questioningly. "Oh, yes. The place Westerners go to commune with the Spirits."

Merlin chuckled. "Yes. Something akin to that."

The shamaness nodded again. "I see. It is good for him to be there in this dark hour." As she said this, the robust voices of two Coralcolan men were heard coming up the beach from the direction of the path to the village. "It is best that we part ways now," she said. "Good bye, Elder, and may the Southern Cross protect you."

"Indeed," Merlin nodded, glancing skyward for a brief moment. "But who, pray tell, is to protect the Southern Cross?"

_Landing Site of the _Havoc's Cry_; Argo City, Argonia_

"Monroe, this had better be life and death," Grey warned as he approached the disembarking ramp of the Havoc's Cry.

"Don't tell it to me, hon," Katt quipped, stepping off the ramp and handing Grey a code-cylinder. "Talk to the General. He's the one who sent it."

Grey snorted noncommittally as he took the code cylinder from Katt and, after inserting it into a tube on the communications device on his wrist, began to enter a series of identity confirmation codes on the device to read its contents. After a moment, he remembered he was not alone. "Oh, uh, Monroe, tell these three about the survivor." As the attention of the three Argonians swiftly turned Katt's way, Grey dismissed himself to a distance of about fifteen paces to review the message.

Katt raised a skeptic eyebrow. "And you three are?"

"Regent Hirocon," Hirocon breezed through the introduction. "My daughter Mica, and the head of New Argo City." With a glance at Moraigne to make sure he caught the establishment of his place in the present hierarchy, Hirocon looked probingly back at Katt. "Now Major, if you would please, this survivor we've heard about."

If Katt was surprised by the urgency in Hirocon's voice, she didn't let it show. "We picked up a distress call a few hours ago from a colony on your moon," she gave a hurried explanation. "While Bill… Colonel Grey came down here to meet with you, I took a scout party on a lander to the moon to check. There was some kind of base there, in ruins, and only one survivor."

Hirocon crossed his arms. Something in the back of his mind told him this was terribly wrong. "How many dead?" He asked.

Katt opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, stunned. "Now that you mention it, none. Not even any Aparoids."

"And this didn't seem a little suspicious to you?"

"To tell you the truth, the whole thing was suspicious. The fact is, we didn't even hear this signal until we were at the fourth planet in the system, but it was a long-range signal, and the base looked like it was destroyed a long time ago. But I thought a survivor is a survivor, and worth trying to pick up. After all, one survivor is one survivor more than we've found any place else."

Moraigne's hand unconsciously moved to the hilt of his blaster as the conversation continued. "I'm a little confused, Major," he said. "How is it that we're a whole lot closer to the moon than you were, and we still never got this signal? I mean, our communications equipment isn't exactly top-notch, but we picked up _your _signal. Shouldn't we have picked up _theirs_?"

Katt's eyes narrowed as she took note of the position of Moraigne's hand, but she said nothing of it. If he tried to draw, she felt certain her reflexes were faster. "I don't know," she said plainly. "Maybe the signal was coming from the wrong side of the moon."

"Perhaps," Hirocon muttered. "But it still worries me."

Katt looked at Hirocon incredulously. "I don't believe this. We've got a man who seems to be the only survivor of a major Argonian colony. And now you want too grill me like I've brought some kind of fugitive, and cyclops there is ready to gun me down."

As Mica noticed Katt's eyes fixed on the blaster at Moraigne's waist, she placed her hand on his forearm firmly, an unspoken directive to take his hand away from the pistol. Hesitantly, he did so. "Sorry about that, Major," he sighed. "Kind of a reflex I've picked up these past few years."

Katt nodded, still not taking her eyes off the blaster pistol until a moment later. "Just what's got you so spooked anyway?" She finally asked, directing the question at all three.

"Well, you see, Major," Moraigne answered coolly, "we don't exactly have a colony on the moon. There's a base there, sure enough, but it's been abandoned for half a century. And now we've got a derelict base, probably destroyed by salvagers before the attack, with one survivor, no corpses, and a long range distress signal apparently directed straight at your ship, and not activated until you were right on top of it. Is that about right so far?"

Katt's brow furrowed in confusion. "When you put it that way…" a new thought struck her. "Do any of you have any idea why a priest would be hanging around an abandoned lunar colony?" All three Argonians froze, and Moraigne's hand began to snake it's way back to the hilt of his blaster. The change was not lost on Katt in the slightest. "Oh, now what?"

"Major," Hirocon's voice came out barely above a whisper. "This priest: what was his name?"

"Called himself Father Drekmyr. Why?"

Mica's hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling a moan of horror, and she reached her hand out to take hold of Hirocon's arm. Moraigne drew his blaster instantly, pointing it at the disembarking ramp. "Father Drekmyr," Hirocon repeated in dismay, rubbing his face with his hand. "Moraigne, take Mica and get her to the shelter, now! Colonel Grey?"

Colonel Grey looked up from his wrist communicator to find Moraigne retreating, his face still toward the disembarking ramp, blaster leveled at it, and Mica breaking for the shelter at a full run. "What the Hell?"

"Colonel," Hirocon spoke commandingly as he passed hastily by. "Call your crew. If any of them are still alive, have them abandon ship."

"WHAT?!" Katt and Grey shrieked in unison.

"But don't get your hopes too high," Hirocon warned, stopping to face Grey. "I doubt there will be any. Now we have to hurry. He'll be coming soon."

"Regent," Katt hissed, "what are you talking about?"

"Colonel," Hirocon was shouting by now, "I don't have time to fully explain here, but we have to leave, and NOW!"

Grey removed the code cylinder from his wrist communicator and tapped a button on the elbow end of it. "Grey to _Havoc's Cry_. Come in."

"Major Russells here," the ship's second officer responded. "Everything ok, sir?"

"Status report," Grey ordered gruffly.

A pause followed. "We lost contact with med-bay seven minutes ago, but that's most likely just a short in the intercom system. We have a team on it, and-" Russells cut his report short, interrupted by a sound Grey recognized instantly. It was the sound of an alert klaxon.

"Russells, status?"

"We have weapons fire on deck four, outside of med-bay," Russells reported. "Sending Security now, and-" a second klaxon. "Correction: weapons fire on decks three and four, and widespread fire control systems activating on both decks." Another pause, followed by "and we've lost contact with Main Security."

Grey glanced up at Hirocon just in time to see the Regent take one last look at the ship before dashing toward the cave entrance.

"Structural damage on deck two," Russells added, "and casualty reports coming in from decks two through five. Fire Control systems activating in pilot quarters section."

Grey glanced disbeleivingly at Katt, who simply stared back in horror and shock. Something he did not understand had gone catastrophically awry. He knew that much, and at this point that was all he knew. _If I'm going to do anything, _he thought_, better do it now while the bridge is still in control._ "Russells, is interstellar comm still online?"

"Um, affirmative," Russells responded between orders hastily shouted.

"Then quick, scramble distress code one to Lonely Hearts Command, Corneria, care of the seasoned veteran."

Another pause.

"Russells?"

"Uh, here," Russells responded. "Signal ready: Lonely Hearts Command, Corneria, care of the seasoned veteran. Message?"

"Message follows: the henhouse is open," Grey answered.

"the henhouse is open," Russells repeated. "Confirm?"

"Confirmed."

"Roger," Russells responded as the noise of internal explosions began to rock the ship. "Message is away. Further orders?"

Grey hesitated before giving his next order, knowing that its implications would not be lost on Russells. "Get the ship in space," Grey ordered. "Set a course for Lylat, lock out the helm, and set up a quarantine beacon, code white."

"Sir?"

Grey closed his eyes sadly. "You heard me, Major." The order was clear, but the commanding air was gone from Grey's voice, replaced by defeated rage. "Code white, all frequencies, all Lylatian languages. And Major…"

"Yes sir?"

Grey looked away from his communicator and held his hand over the button that would end the transmission. "Godspeed, Major." He pushed the button, unable to bring himself to wait for a response.

There was a momentary silence from Grey's communicator, and then the repulsorlifts of the _Havoc's Cry_ whirred to life. Katt backed away from the ship as it lifted off, standing next to Grey and holding her hand in front of her face to shield it from the dust. As the ship reached an altitude Grey guessed to be about a hundred meters, a series of distress lights began to flash along on the ship's hull, all a glaring white. Katt and Grey both watched silently until the ship was nothing more than a pale-gray dot in the foreign sky. Finally, Katt tore her eyes away and looked at Grey. The Colonel's teeth were bared menacingly, eyes still fixed on the distant spec that, until moments prior, had been his ship, home to his men. With a final, threateningly throaty growl, Grey lowered his eyes, took his flatcap off and threw it forcefully to the ground, and stood there, his fists still clenching and unclenching in fury.

"This probably isn't the time to ask, Bill," Katt said apologetically, "but just so I'm caught up, what was all that gibberish about a scrambled distress code?"

Grey took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, calling upon every ounce of nerve from a lifetime of battle. "Distress code one is a priority distress call," he explained. "Always spoken in code words, in case of interception. I guess they didn't teach you that before they commissioned you."

Katt shrugged. "It was kind of a hit-and-run commission. You needed an X.O. who knew how to fly better than most, so General Pepper offered me the job. What did the message mean?"

"Lonely Hearts Command is code for General Pepper's office," Grey answered as his breathing returned to normal, "and the seasoned veteran-"

"Is the General," Katt finished for him. "I picked up on that one. What was the henhouse part about?"

Grey gave a final, heavy sigh as he turned to face Katt. "The code white beacon," he acted as though he had not heard her, "is a quarantine signal, set up by the Army for use in the event of Aparoid infection. It's an order for any Cornerian ship to destroy the ship broadcasting the signal on sight."

Katt shook her head. "Then if they survive whatever was loose on that ship…" Grey held up a hand to silence her. The rest didn't need to be spoken.

After a brief silence, Katt repeated her question. "What was the rest of that distress signal about? Something about a henhouse or something-"

"The henhouse is open," Grey echoed. "It's a last resort signal, for use when a Cornerian unit is being overrun. Simply put, it means 'send the fox.'"

"The fox? You mean…?"

Grey nodded. "Yeah. If Pepper got that message, McCloud and his team should be on their way within twenty-four hours." As an afterthought he added, "which means your old flame will be here with him." Katt said nothing. "Meanwhile, Grey narrowed his eyes as he turned toward the shelter, "I think we need to have a little chat with the Regent."

"With Hirocon?"

"Yeah, with Hirocon," Grey answered. "Whatever just happened, he knew about it before we did. Now I want to find out what he knows," he bared his teeth and snarled the rest, "and why a whole battalion had to die to get him to share it with us."

Havoc's Cry_; Deck One, Bridge Corridor_

The durasteel door strained under the force of Zoda's focussed mind for a sharp second before being sheared from it's sliding track and flung across the bridge like a leaf in the wind. The High Priest casually held up a gauntletted left hand to block bolts of white-hot plasma fired from hastily drawn blasters, while a dismissive wave from his right hand bathed the bridge in a blinding gold light. The Cornerian crew didn't even have time to scream as their bodies were telekinetically ripped atom from atom and scattered scattered across the bridge. His grisly task completed, Zoda mouthed a hasty prayer to Dragmire, asking him to accept the sacrifice of their bodies, then looked around at the now deserted bridge. The plain metal walls and floors, duravinyl seats and compact control surfaces gave it the no-nonsense, utilitarian feel of a military vessel. As for the dead crew, one thing Zoda remembered about Cornerians was their fondness for automation. He could probably man the ship by himself.

Slowly, he made his way to the front of the bridge, to the helm, his arms folded in front of his chest. It had been great fortune that the Cornerians had come this way. All it took to arouse their curiosity was a timely distress beacon. Had the Cornerians paid more attention, they would have noticed it was a focussed message, sent directly to their ship. Quite picky for an urgent distress call. However, Cornerians had never been masters of investigation. They saw the universe in only two dimensions: light and dark, good and evil, us and them, and the notion of one masquerading as the other was simply foreign to their mentality. Having spent his years of exile in the Lylat system, he knew the culture well, and taking advantage of their simplistic view was no difficult task.

The task at hand, he thought with a frown, was a bit more trying. His own armada had been completely destroyed by the Aparoids. It was a necessary loss, he knew, and he felt no remorse for it. Argonia had been a culture of weakness since the death of Dragmire almost two millenia before, hiding behind their king, then the Alliance and then the Frontier, unwilling and unable to face any foe they would have to sacrifice lives to defeat. Their culture didn't deserve to live. The people of Argonia were all but extinct by the time he finished with the planet, but that had not been enough. He wanted to sweep away every remnant of Argo's line, and of Argo's global nation, to make the planet ready for Dragmire's resurrection, and he could think of no better race for the job than the Aparoids.

But now Zoda was alone on an unfamiliar vessel, and, if he understood the readings on the helm control, he was spaceborne, on a direct course away from Argonia, bound for the Lylat system. Further, the helm was locked, preventing him from altering the ship's course. If that didn't complicate things enough, the ship was broadcasting a message commanding any Cornerian vessel to destroy it at first sight.

At least, that had been the Cornerians' plan. The Cornerians did not plan, however, on facing a foe with the unlimited wisdom of the Goddess Farore, nor the boundless courage of the Goddess Nayru. Zoda clenched his right fist tightly, bringing the two golden, triangular marks to a glow. He had been close. By the Ancestor, he had been close. The Sages Descendants had been right there, defenseless, and yet again they slipped through his grasp, all due to a wild fluke. He had sensed the Feline's conversation with Hirocon, the conversation that alerted the Argonians to his presence. If the Feline had gone half an hour later to deliver the message to the ship's commander, no one off the ship would have been any the wiser. But no matter, the Triforce of Wisdom told him, no matter. The Argonians were on Argonia, and there they would stay. There would be an eternity of chances to go back and deal with them. For the time being, perhaps a trip to the Lylat System would serve him well. No Cornerian ship would intercept him, let alone destroy one of their priceless dreadnoughts. The Triforce of Courage eased his worry by making him sure of that. Cornerian Command was likely still reeling from the Aparoid invasion. _Besides_, Zoda thought, _I have old debts to pay in the Lylat System, or perhaps old favors to call in._

Either way, he had an old friend to visit.


	6. Chapter 6: Second Exile

Chapter Six: Second Exile

_Afternoon of September 9, 1990 (Earth Reckoning)_

_New Argo City Shelter; Argo City, Argonia_

New Argo City was in an uproar. Those skilled in arms piled into the armory, some emerging with blaster rifles, others with bows and arrows. Those with less skill retreated deeper within the shelter, instinctively seeking the illusion of refuge that the stone walls provided. The news had spread fast, and the fear that came with it was equally epidemic. Zoda, the Prime Invader, the High Priest of Dragmire, had returned. There were sobs, there were screams of terror, there were whispers. Oh, how there were whispers.

One would say, "it's those seven children, and that man claiming to be Hirocon. They brought him here."

Another would argue, "no, it's the off-worlders."

Still a third would insist, "what difference does it make how he got here? He's here. We're done for!"

And so it went, throughout the shelter. Still, nowhere was the dire situation more felt than in the communications room, now empty, save for six children. For it was these six who now, in addition to fearing the worst from the invader outside the shelter, found themselves the objects of the suspicions of their own people.

"What's happening out there?" Demanded the rugged Daru, the eldest male of the seven refugee children.

"I don't know," replied Naberra, a girl close to Mica's age, standing right beside him. "But I get the feeling we won't be too much safer in here than out there soon."

"What's gonna happen to us?" Saera cut to the heart of the matter in that way that only a small girl could. "Is it true? Is Zoda back?"

"It would seem so," affirmed cold and academic Rute, second youngest of the group. "This is a most disturbing development."

"Most disturbing development?!" It was Impek, a portly boy ten cycles in age whose temper flared first under the pressure of the situation. "This isn't some experiment, you lab-raised bookmonger! We're talking about Zoda! We're talking about the demon who killed our families and blasted our planet back to the post-nuclear age!"

Rute looked calmly back at Impek. "I assure you, I'm fully aware of who we're talking about. I just fail to see how panicking improves the situation."

"Look. All of you, stop it!" Rauren, a boy between Naberra and Mica's age spoke up. Even in this dire situation, he managed a calm, almost cocky demeanor, a trait his companions believed he picked up from Mike during the group's stay on Earth. "Listen," he addressed the group once they were calm. "We don't know enough now to make any kind of decision. I'll admit things are more than a little crazy out there, and it's best we lie low, just in case anyone decides to do anything rash," he looked around the room to make sure his undertone was perceived. "The first thing we need to do is find His Excellency and Her Highness." The other five nodded their agreement. "Okay then, when was the last time anyone saw them?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," came a voice from the tunnel that connected the communications center with the rest of the shelter. "You'll see him soon enough." All six turned toward the source of the voice to find Codren standing there, his blaster in hand.

"Alright, now let's think about this a minute," Rauren spoke slowly and softly. "There's no reason to-" he was interrupted by a white-hot bolt of plasma whizzing past his head, just close enough to graze the point of his left ear. Saera, clinging to Nabera's leg, began to cry and Rauren, wincing from the pain, recoiled.

"All six of you, follow me," Codren growled. "Moraigne didn't have the sense to execute the lot of you at first. Let's see if he has the guts to correct his mistake."

* * *

Hirocon staggered backward into the cave wall from the impact of a Cornerian fist. As he crumpled forward into a heap he caught the metallic taste of blood as it dripped from his nose down to his lips. Mica was immediately at her father's side, helping him up, but Moraigne was nowhere to be found, having disappeared into the shelter in the confusion. 

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Regent," Bill Grey rumbled as he rubbed the knuckles of the fist he'd used, with Katt Monroe standing close behind, arms folded and claws extended menacingly.

Hirocon wiped the blood from his upper lip with his cloak. "The explanation is simple, Colonel. Do you remember the conversation we had about Zoda?"

"Vividly."

"That was him," Hirocon explained simply, rising again to his feet. "I recognized him when Major Monroe spoke of the priest, Father Drekmyr. Zoda's full name was Zodanorv Drekmyr, and he was a 'priest,' if you want to call it that."

Grey swore under his breath. "And he caused all that chaos on the ship alone?"

Hirocon looked back at Grey meaningfully. "Now you see what happened to Argonia before the Aparoids. Imagine what that man… that _beast_ could do with an army of fanatical devotees behind him."

Grey took a few steps back, shaking his head. "Sorry I punched you, Excellency," he said off-handedly, earning a dismissive wave from Hirocon, before returning to the subject. "Jeez, they told us in the mission briefing that Argonians had some cerebral powers most races don't have, but I didn't expect anything like _that_."

Hirocon sighed. "Well, in point of fact most of us aren't anywhere close to being that powerful."

"Then why is he?" Katt asked.

Mica answered. "We don't know. All we know is when the man calling himself 'Zoda' attacked Argonia, he was considerably more powerful than when 'Zodanorv Drekmyr' was exiled. We're not sure where that increased power came from."

"Actually," Hirocon began quickly, then appeared to regret it. "…Actually, that's not one hundred percent true. In fact…" His voice trailed off, and Mica noticed him absent-mindedly rubbing the back of his right hand.

_Why does he keep doing that? _"Father," Mica said suspiciously, "what is there that you're not telling me?"

Hirocon stopped rubbing his hand long enough to stroke his chin with it. "When Zoda first came to Argonia, he wasn't as strong as he is now, and the reason for his strength… well, it's partly my fault."

_Jones Residence; Seattle, Washington_

Mike sat on his bed, staring out the window of his upstairs bedroom overlooking suburban Seattle. This, he realized as his eyes moved from one perfectly cut, perfectly edged lawn to another, was his life: no aliens, no time travel, no Knights of the Round Table. Here, life was predictable. It was like an exhibition game against a junior varsity team. Sure, there was excitement enough, but everyone already knew what the end result would be. No worries, no fighting for his life, and the only pressure he had to deal with came on the pitching mound. Everything here was safe.

Perfectly safe…

…and perfectly mediocre.

And that, he was beginning to understand, was what bothered him more with each development. During the summer, he'd been a hero, a difference-maker. He'd been significant. And now…

"Penny for your thoughts, son."

Mike looked away from the window. "Hmm?"

Dennis walked into the room, clutched the back of the chair that normally sat at Mike's homework desk, pulled it up next to the bed and sat in it. He had a large, old-looking leather bound book of some kind under his left arm. "You've been preoccupied all day."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well," Dennis began casually, "you barely said a word all day, and you normally fall asleep during Father Gordon's sermons. Today you couldn't sleep. You just kind of spaced out and stared at the ceiling. So what's up?"

Mike looked back out the window sullenly. "Had another dream last night," he moped.

Dennis nodded. "Thought so. Another Link and Dragmire dream?"

Mike shrugged. "Yeah, Dragmire was in it again, and I killed him again. No surprise there, but…" he found himself unable to finish, and simply stared out the window.

"But…" Dennis prodded him.

"The dream was really more about Link and… well, I guess she was Zelda," Mike turned around completely, finally putting his back to the window and focussing on the conversation.

Dennis nodded once, indicating for Mike to go on.

And so, Mike did. "Well, Dragmire was dead, and I… I mean Link, was leaving. Heading off to some Island. Koholint, I think it was called. The weird part was, even though Dragmire was dead, Zelda spent most of the dream crying."

"Crying? Why do you think that was?"

Mike shook his head, his face betraying disbelief. "I think it was because of me. Because I was leaving. I mean because Link was leaving. It was like…"

Since Mike couldn't finish, it was Dennis who did. "Like she was in love with him."

Mike nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Yeah."

Dennis looked closely at Mike. "And that's what's been distracting you? The thought that Zelda was in love with Link?"

Mike paused. "Yeah. I guess it's kind of stupid, isn't it?"

Dennis didn't answer. "You know, in everything from Literature to Hollywood, the princess always winds up living happily ever after with the hero, doesn't she?"

Mike shrugged noncommittally. "Guess so." For a long time, nothing was said. Mike wasn't sure how long it was before he realized how intensely his father was staring at him. "Dad? You okay?"

Dennis nodded slowly, a nod meant to be clearly seen. Behind it, Mike couldn't help but detect a note of sorrow, made more poignant by a tear rolling down the side of his face. "I'm fine," he assured Mike, taking the book out from under his arm and placing it on his lap. "Just realizing that I can't…" like so many other sentences that day, he left it unfinished. "Mike," he said, his face brightening slightly, "I think it's time I showed you something." After a moment, "honestly, it's probably past time to show you." As he said this he opened the book, and Mike could see it was a scrapbook of some kind.

"What's this?" He asked.

"It's something your uncle and I put together back in grade school for a family history assignment, and we've just kind of kept adding to it ever since," was the answer. "Simply put, it's everything we know about the past one hundred years of the Jones Family."

Interested, Mike scooted close to the edge of the bed and stared down at the pages. The only picture on first page was a faded picture of two young boys. Both wore glasses. One, on the left, was shorter than the other, with darker hair and a wild, curious excitement in his eyes. The other was tall and lean, brown-haired and freckle faced. He looked calmer, more detached.

"It's me and Steve," Dennis explained the picture. "When I was eleven and he was eight. But that's not really the interesting part." He flipped through a few pages, to a page covered in black-and-white photographs. One, in the center, depicted a man with a strong resemblance to Dr. J, except that in place of his receding hairline there was a flattop haircut. The man wore the green uniform of an Army Officer, his chest covered in medals. "That's your grandfather, Colonel Marcus Jones," Dennis explained. "He was a brigade commander under MacArthur."

Mike looked at Dennis in shock. "Dad, you never told me Grandpa fought in the war."

Dennis sighed. "I didn't want you taking it in your head to go try and be a hero overseas yourself. Honestly, your grandfather and I never saw eye to eye, but," he sat up straighter, "nonetheless, he was a hero."

"How'd he get so decorated?" Mike asked, looking back at the picture with still greater interest.

Dennis shook his head. "He never talked much about it, but I do know this. He was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor three times, and lived to brag about it all three times."

Mike looked back at his father blankly. "I really don't know much about the Army, Dad. What does that mean?"

"Let's just say it's something that simply doesn't happen," Dennis replied. "The Congressional Medal of Honor is the highest award in the armed service, and it's almost never given except posthumously. So for your grandfather to get it three times, especially as an officer…" He let Mike finish for him.

"Wow," was all Mike said.

Dennis nodded. "But, let's move on." He flipped through a few more pages until he reached more black-and-white photos of a man in a different uniform.

"Who's this?"

"This," Dennis explained, "is Marcus's father, Connor Jones. He was the last one of our family to live in England. After him, we came over here."

Mike nodded. "What's the uniform?"

"Connor was an officer in a British luxury sailing company called the White Star Line," Dennis said. "He was third mate on a liner called the _R.M.S. Carpathia_. Ever heard of it?"

"Nope."

"It was the first ship to arrive to pick up survivors from the _Titanic_, Mike. And guess which one of the ship's officers got a Royal Commendation for risking his life to pull survivors out of the sea?"

Mike nodded slowly. "Connor," he said, and looked back at Dennis, beginning to understand.

"And I could go on for another generation or two," Dennis said, "but I think you see the idea."

Mike spoke slowly. "So what your saying is that Jones' have always been heroes."

Dennis placed the book on the bed and stood up. "Mike, I don't fully understand what happened this summer, and I really don't know what's going on now. But 'hero' is in your blood, son, and more recently than Link. Don't misunderstand me. It's not that I _like_ the idea of you running off to fight little green men from the other edge of the universe or what-have-you. But this may very well be something you were born for."

Mike drew a deep breath, finally tearing his eyes away from the book. As he looked back at his father, something within him finally settled into place, and he understood at last what he had to do. "So you're okay with it then, Dad?"

Dennis froze. "More like resigned to it, Mike. I won't lie to you. This whole thing scares me to death, but it's bigger than my worries."

"But what about school? What about Mom?"

"I can tell Clara you're on some kind of academic honors trip or something," Dennis answered. "As for the school, I can tell them you've moved to Chicago to live with your Uncle. He has a lab there that's fairly well-known, so they probably won't ask too many questions. If you decide to go," Dennis said, "then go. If you don't, frankly I'll be even happier. But whatever you do, do it because it's what you decided. And don't ever second guess your decision. It'll just tear you apart." Slowly, he turned and began to walk out of the room.

"Uh, Dad," Mike called, thinking of something. "One more thing."

"Hmm?"

"How'd we get from the 'Princess and Hero' talk to discussing what I have to do next?"

Dennis snickered, in spite of the moment. "Son, if you don't understand by now, you will. Probably sooner than later." Then he left the room.

Mike sat in silence for a few moments to think. In the end, he decided there was very little to think about. To abandon everything he'd seen, everything he'd become that summer and return to a life from which he'd always felt something was missing, while the monster he'd struggled against tore apart everything he'd fought for…

…or to stand up and be the man he kept trying to convince himself that he wasn't.

His decision made, Mike started down the steps to the living room. Seeing no one there, he picked up the phone on the end table next to the sofa and dialed Dr. J's number.

_Steven Jones' Lab; Seattle, Washington_

"Oh, I swear," Dr. J grumbled as the phone rang for what he felt must have been the three thousandth time that day. "Can I have a minute to pack?" Still grumbling, he picked up the receiver roughly. "Hello?"

"Uncle Steve, it's Mike."

"Oh. Hi Mike. Listen, I'm a little busy right now. Can I call you back in-"

"Just one really quick thing, Unc."

"Well, okay."

A pause. "Uncle Steve, you're leaving for C-Island this Wednesday. Right?"

"That's correct, via Honolulu."

"Look. I know this is going to sound way out there, but… well, how much trouble would it be to book another seat on that flight?"

Dr. J merely smiled, his amusement at having foreseen Mike's decision belying the worry he felt about its result. "Well, to tell you the truth, Mike, I already booked two seats."

Another pause, followed by laughter. "I'll go find my passport."

_New Argo City Shelter; Argo City, Argonia_

"Okay," Grey rubbed his snout wearily with one hand. "I think I'd better sit down for this."

"Me too," Katt sighed, twitching her whiskers, and the two Cornerian Officers took seats upon piles of lava rock.

Mica stood silently, stunned at her father's admission.

Realizing he'd admitted too much not to disclose the story now, Hirocon began. "There's an artifact that's been passed down through the Argonian Royal Line. It's existence is something of a secret, but considering the legends that surround the artifact, that can hardly be said to be so. It's a sort of amplifier for our psionic abilities. It has several names, but over the years we've simply taken to calling it 'the Resonator.'"

Mica put the story together almost immediately. "We're talking about the Triforce of Wisdom, aren't we?" Hirocon simply nodded.

"Triforce?" Katt and Grey asked in unison.

"Just a name out of our Mythology, Major. Nothing important." Hirocon spoke before Mica could say anything more in-depth. "What's important is this. Zoda has it."

"How?" Mica demanded. Hirocon stared back at her, as if waiting for her to piece the rest of the story together. Slowly, it sank in. "No. Oh, Sisters. No. When you said you tried to fight him…"

Hirocon nodded guiltily. "I thought with its power I could kill him, as I should have when we first captured him. But he apparently picked up a few tricks in exile. One minute I was fighting a man, the next minute it…" he paused. Honestly, it could have been some kind of telepathic hallucination from Zoda, but I remember facing what I can only describe as a great, floating, disembodied head, with a pair of clawed hands to match." He shuddered for a moment. "And I've never seen anyone fight so relentlessly either."

Mica slowly sank onto a pile of lava near the two Cornerians and rested her chin in her hands. "Mike mentioned that the Zoda he fought on the ship was a changeling, and I believe he described something like that."

At the mention of Zoda's shape-shifting, a worried glance passed between Katt and Grey, but it went unnoticed by Hirocon and Mica.

"So if you wish to blame me for what happened on your ship, Colonel, you partly have the right. I am responsible for Zoda's strength."

"Aha!" came a triumphant voice from the entrance of the chamber, and all four turned to find Codren standing in the entryway, plasma pistol in hand. "He admits it at last!" Codren waved his pistol over his shoulder and a group of more than twenty armed Argonians strode in, their weapons to the backs of the other five members of the Cornerian landing party, as well as Mica's six companions. Hirocon groaned as they were herded into the tiny chamber at blasterpoint, noting that the Cornerians appeared to have put up a fight first, judging by their missing weapons, as well as their numerous scrapes and bruises.

"Codren," Mica hissed with utter poison in her voice. "What's the meaning of this?"

"I warned Delvan that you people would bring nothing but trouble." Codren shoved his pistol in the direction of the Cornerians. "They brought Zoda with them, after he left us alone for years." He pointed the pistol at Hirocon. "And he brought them to Argonia, even though Delvan told him it was a bad idea. And now, he admits that he's the reason Zoda was able to do everything he did. I say we waste the whole lot of them before they cause any more problems."

Mica narrowed her eyes at Codren. "You know Moraigne will never stand for this."

"Stand for what?" Moraigne said from outside the chamber as he half-sprinted in, standing squarely in front of Codren and looking directly at him. "What's going on?"

Codren's immediate answer was, "we're correcting your mistake. That's what's going on."

Mica turned to Moraigne. "You can't let them do this, Moraigne. You know this is wrong. Argonians fighting Argonians? It's unheard of."

"Need I remind you that Zoda was Argonian?" Codren countered. "She's pulling that same garbage about unity that' father dearest' did the other day. Don't let her get to you, Delvan. Didn't you just hear? He _admits_ that everything Zoda did is his fault! Zoda only got to be that powerful because of him!"

Moraigne spun around to face Hirocon, his face incredulous.

"I admit, there's truth to it," Hirocon said softly.

"There! You see?" Codren was practically raving by this point. "Let's get rid of them before they cause another catastrophe."

"Delvan," Hirocon cautioned. "You know as well as I do that this is madness."

"No. Actually," Moraigne glared at Hirocon, "the madness was thinking I could ever trust you in the first place, Argo. You caused this mess, then you abandoned us, and now you come crawling back to take command, and before you've been here a week you've brought someone down here who brought us to Zoda's attention again? Give me one reason why I should let ANY of you live!"

Hirocon clenched his teeth as he spoke. "If you want to take your revenge on me, then by all means do so, but leave the children out of it. And the Cornerians had no idea what they were doing. It was a rescue mission to them. They've had to deal with Zoda's destruction of the Frontier just as we have. Remember?"

Grey could no longer hold his tongue. "Is this what Argonia's become? Hmm? Is this what's left of the Crown Jewel of the Alliance? You're a bunch of paranoid, superstitious cowards who lynch every leader who ever makes a mistake. Is that it?"

"If I were you, off-worlder, I'd keep silent," Codren warned, and turned his eyes toward Moraigne. "It's your move, Delvan. Do you have the backbone to do what you have to do this time?"

Codren's jab had the opposite effect from what he intended, and Moraigne drew his blaster, but it was pointed at Codren, not Hirocon or Mica. "I don't need to be lectured by the likes of you about doing what I have to do, Krin."

Noticing the business end of Moraigne's blaster, Codren faltered. "Alright. Then what's it going to be?"

Moraigne surveyed the eight Argonian captives, looking each in the eye as his good eye swept over them. At length, he turned back to Codren. "And what happens if I think they should stay, Krin?" Krin said nothing. "What happens if I give the answer you don't want to hear? Will I be the next one looking at an angry mob out for blood?" He tightened his grip on his blaster.

Sweat beads began to form on Codren's forehead as some from among the mob began to back away. "Delvan, we shouldn't be fighting each other. Can't you see? It's just like what Zoda used to try to do using clones. They're turning us on one another when they're the enemy. If they're telling the truth they're naïve and don't know a dangerous situation when they see it. If they're lying, well, we know what that means. Either way, we don't have room for people like this. Not here."

"I thought you didn't need to hear any talk of unity, Krin," Mica said mordantly, provoking a hail of insults and rebuttals from the Argonian mob.

"Alright, everyone just shut up!" Moraigne's piercing shout cut through the chaos with ease. "Krin's right. There's no room in New Argo City for off-worlder fools and arrogant rich men who cost lives."

Codren nodded, powering up his plasma pistol. "At last," he said through gritted teeth.

"Put that away, Krin," Moraigne said adamantly, waving his pistol to remind Codren it was still pointed his direction. The reminder was enough for Codren, and he powered his weapon back down. "Then what do you expect us to do?" Codren asked. "You just said-"

"I know full well what I just said," Moraigne barked. Cooling down slightly, he turned back to face the prisoners, his good eye passing over each of them in turn. "Exile," he said at length. "We'll exile them from the shelter, and from the capitol area."

Codren sneered. "Is that it? We're just letting them walk out of here? What if they report to-"

"They're fools, Krin, but not traitors," Moraigne thundered. "And I don't see how anyone this dumb intends to survive the Argonian wastes. If they do, fine. If they don't," he holstered his blaster and looked directly at Mica. "Then they're not our problem anymore." With that unconcerned decree still ringing in the ears of the eight Argonian refugees and seven Cornerian survivors, Moraigne turned to the mob. "Haul them outside and show them the way out of the capitol. If any of them try to turn back or hesitate, then Codren can go ahead and kill the whole lot of them."

* * *

None of the Cornerians would have admitted it to their newfound Argonian cohorts, but in their eyes, or at least in Grey's, the outcome of the New Argo City incident was a relief. To them, being on the planet in the first place was already a form of exile (or marooning rather, Grey thought with a growl), so being exiled from one part of the planet to another was almost laughable. To have escaped the shelter with their lives, not to mention getting away from the tension of the ragtag paranoid colony, was in their minds something to celebrate. Now, at least, they had a chance to think about their next move without having to watch over their shoulders for a terrified Argonian with the unshakable impression that all off-worlders were dangerous. 

_But try telling that to a group of children who just lost their home for the second time_, Grey thought. He couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy for them as he watched them plod forward, heads hung, teeth grinding. Saera couldn't even bring herself to keep walking, so it was Mica who carried her, the child's face buried in her shoulder to muffle her cries. Mica, for her part, gave a valiant attempt at maintaining the stoicism of royalty, but Grey knew better from one look at her eyes. He'd seen those eyes before, on countless soldiers returning from countless losing battles. She managed to keep her tears from falling, but it was still clear that they were there. Hearing it whispered that Moraigne had been Mica's fiancé before Zoda's attack only made Grey feel worse for her.

Hirocon, forever concerned with the well-being of his people before his own well-being, did a better job of hiding the fact that he was disheartened. One by one he walked alongside each of the Argonians speaking what words of encouragement he could muster, assuring them that Moraigne mentioned other groups of survivors, and that this was merely a minor setback compared to what they'd already overcome. The children, in return, did their best to look as though they found his words encouraging.

After walking for a few hours, just as the rubble of wrecked buildings became thinner and the terrain grew rougher Grey called for a brief break. His own troops, he felt certain, could have gone on longer, but there were children to consider. Besides, his soldiers hadn't had time to really acknowledge the loss of their comrades yet. As the ragged company took their respite, Grey and Katt made their way, as discreetly as the situation allowed, to sit next to Hirocon. Mica, as she had been most of the past two days, was nearby.

"Well, what do you think, Colonel?" Hirocon asked with a scratchy, worn voice. "What are our chances out here in this wasteland?"

"Actually, better than you think," Grey said.

Hirocon cocked his head sideways. "Oh?"

"Before the ship was lost, we managed to get an urgent distress call to Corneria. Assuming it was received, a Cornerian unit should be arriving within a few days."

"A few days?" Mica asked skeptically. "That's impossible, even from a planet as close as Corneria. Argonia's fastest ship would take six months to get there."

Grey managed a smile at that, and he savored it. He felt certain there would not be many of them in the near future. "Then I guess it's a good thing Cornerians have faster ships, isn't it? Trust me, Princess. If they got that message, they're sending a team."

"And not just any team either," Katt purred. "They'll send Star Fox."

Mica and Hirocon looked once at each other, then back at Katt. It was clear to both of them that they should somehow have been excited at this news. "And Star Fox is…?" Mica waited for Katt to explain.

"The team that took out Andross, as well as the Aparoids," Grey said proudly.

Hirocon nodded approvingly. "Then assuming that message was received, and assuming we have a means of making them detect us, all we have to do is stay alive for 'a few days.' Is that what you're saying?"

Grey nodded. "Exactly. That's all we have to do." His smile faded. "That is, unless the SF team has bigger problems."

Hirocon noted, "you sound like you suspect they might."

Grey sighed. "The last order I gave the crew," Grey continued mournfully, "was to set the ship on a course for Lylat, broadcasting a 'destroy on sight' message, then lock out the helm. I knew I couldn't save the crew, but I thought I could at least destroy whatever had invaded my ship once and for all, before it could get to any other Cornerian ships. When you told me that was this same 'Zoda' who destroyed Argonia, I started to worry. After all, he didn't sound like the kind of guy who's that easily taken down." Grey looked at Katt for a moment, wondering if he should tell them that there was more to their worrying about Zoda. The two Argonians, however, didn't give them the chance.

"Believe me, Colonel" Hirocon groaned. "You're quite right, and one reason is that Zoda is one of the fiercest space commanders Argonia has ever seen: another notable development after his return from exile. If he's been able to retake your vessel -and I fear he certainly will, if he hasn't already- then my prayers are with whoever attacks that ship."

"If you're right," Katt said worriedly, "and he manages to hook up with any stragglers from the Venomian Army, or O'Donnell's Gang-"

"We have to assume that Corneria can handle Zoda, and that the Star Fox Team will get here," Grey said, ending the speculation. He turned to Hirocon expecting the Regent to agree with him on this, only to find Hirocon gazing intently and thoughtfully at the sky. He followed the Argonian leader's gaze. The sun was beginning to set, and the first specks of light were beginning to peek through the murky atmosphere, but nothing Grey could see seemed worthy of such focus. "Regent?"

"I'm listening, Colonel," Hirocon assured him. "And I agree, but what if Zoda does return? I'm sure he will if he survives your order. What do we do then?" Still he did not lower his eyes.

"Well, d'you really think he'll come after us when there's the remnant of a major city so close by?"

"He cares nothing for the city. Everything Zoda did was to get to these seven."

Grey's chest swelled with determination. "Well, we'll have to hope Star Fox gets here before Zoda does, and just fight him if it comes to it."

Mica looked at the ground sadly. "We can't make a stand against Zoda. We never could. Not without Mike."

"It's funny, Mica," Hirocon said seriously, "I was beginning to think just that."

Grey interrupted. "Who's Mike?"

Mica was now looking up toward Hirocon. "But I thought you said we couldn't get Mike's help because it was a twenty year trip to Earth, even for Argonia's fastest-" As she said it, the solution came to her and she gasped.

Hirocon finally tore his gaze away from the stars and looked at Mica wryly. "Then I guess it's a good thing Cornerians have faster ships, isn't it? Colonel Grey?"

"Hmm?"

Hirocon pointed his hand toward the sky, in the direction he'd been staring. "Are you familiar with that star right there? The yellow one."

Grey followed the pointing of Hirocon's hand. In truth, he wasn't much of an astrocartographer, but he humored the Regent. He was quite surprised to find that the star Hirocon asked about one he recognized. Then, he snorted as he realized why. "Yeah, we call that one Qay'Dan. It means 'Chaos Home.' Why?"

Hirocon's attention was diverted by that comment momentarily from the star to Grey. "Oh? Something significant about it?"

Grey snorted again. "Well, there are a few sects on Corneria that believe Hell itself orbits Qay'Dan. They say the supreme evil of the universe was born there, in that star system."

Hirocon looked mildly disheartened. "Forgive me, I didn't know." Grey shrugged, and Hirocon hesitated before proceeding further. "Do you hold to such beliefs?"

Grey shook his head. "Never really gave quirky religions much thought, honestly. Most Cornerians don't in this day and age. Still, we've never actually bothered to go out there and see if it was true. Why?"

Hirocon nodded. "And what about this 'Star Fox?' Do they believe that star is evil as well?"

Grey harrumphed. "Uh, I don't know. I doubt it, really. McCloud was never the kind to put much faith in anything that wasn't flying formation with him."

Hirocon continued eagerly. "And will this 'Star Fox' have room enough on their ship for all of us when they arrive?"

"Now you're asking questions I really don't have answers to," Grey stopped Hirocon. "That'll all depend on what kind of ship Pepper assigns them for the job, since their own ship is kaput."

"Probably a Y-Fleet _Enforcer_-class that's a mission away from being retired," Katt offered, joining the conversation once more. "Command's been looking for a few easy jobs to phase those out to make room for the _Defender II_'s. So yeah, they'll have room."

"And how soon could one of these _Enforcer _ships get to that star at best speed?" Hirocon asked quickly.

Grey and Katt stared, open-mouthed, at Hirocon. "Why would you want to go there?" Katt spat.

Hirocon crossed his arms and replied. "To pay a visit to a man who's beaten four Zodas before."

_September 12, 1990 (Earth Reckoning)_

_Meteo Asteroid Field, Lylat System_

The Lylat System was a collection of cosmic flukes, defying nearly every principle of astrophysics. Of the system's two stars, Lylat was a blue giant, no more than three million years old. The smaller star, a red dwarf known as 'Solar,' was significantly older, but still orbited the younger Lylat. Astrophysical theorists throughout the Alliance puzzled constantly over the paradox of how a younger star could maintain such a hold over its elder cousin without destabilizing the orbit of the system's bodies. Yet, more unlikely than the relationship between the two stars was the arrangement of the system itself.

The planet known as Venom, the first in the system, maintained an orbit perilously close to Lylat. This proximity to the star's gravity well, combined with the planet's uncharacteristically fast rotation, caused the carbon dioxide-rich upper atmosphere to hang in the form of a smoky cloud several hundred miles above the surface, more akin in form to planetary rings than an atmosphere. A thin fog of mixed helium and oxygen divided this smoke from the oppressively thick oxygen/methane atmosphere below. Superheated by the greenhouse effect of the carbon dioxide cloud, the planet boasted only a few sparse regions of inhabitability, mainly around the poles, since the planet's spin kept the heavier concentrations of methane centralized around the equatorial regions.

Venom's nearest neighbor, the less remarkable world of Macbeth, orbited far enough out from Lylat to make its climate inhabitable, albeit inhospitably arid. It's atmosphere was breathable, but the sparse plant life made it an unlikely place to sustain a significant population, though it had been a known supply depot for Venomian forces during the last war between Venom and Corneria. The third planet, Katina, was similar in size and atmospheric content to Macbeth. Its slightly greater distance from Lylat gave it a cooler climate, and it was home to a thriving population of Cornerian colonists. The planet was fully inhabitable, with the exception of a brief time of intense heat every five centuries when an alignment of certain objects in the system coincided with Katina's close passage to Solar, whose orbit was outside the orbit of the inner three planets.

Solar itself played host to the orbits of the fifth, sixth, and seventh planets: Zoness, Titania, and Fortuna by name. Scientists were divided as to the reasons for this peculiar distinction between the inner and outer planets, but most theorized these planets likely orbited Solar before Lylat's birth. Of these three, Titania and Fortuna's orbits passed so close to each other, moving at such similar speeds, that the twin planets had been known to switch positions with each other, dancing in and out of each other's orbits. These shifts were especially common when their distant orbits around Solar brought them closer to Lylat. Though both planets' atmosphere's were an oxygen/nitrogen mix, these shifts in proximity to the heat-giving stars caused rapid and radical climate shifts from extreme heat to extreme cold, making colonization impossible without self-contained atmospheric systems for any station constructed there. Most of the other planetoids in the system maintained ill-defined, almost free-floating orbits, flung casually about by the ever-changing gravitational forces of the system. The exception to this rule, and arguably the greatest oddity of the system, was Corneria.

Corneria, the fourth planet of the system, was a truly juicy morsel for any astrophysicist. Larger than any planet in the system except Venom, and the most conducive to supporting life, Corneria did not orbit Lylat alone as did the inner planets, nor did it orbit Solar as did many of the system's outer planets. Rather, it danced between the two stars, circling one, and then switching to orbit the other as it passed between them in its endless Mobius pattern. Remarkably, the time it took to complete one of these figure-8's was virtually identical to the time it took Earth or Argonia to complete one orbit around their own respective stars. The notable difference between one of their years and a Cornerian year was that the Mobius orbit divided a Cornerian year into seven seasons rather than four. At one time, Corneria had boasted an inhabitable moon, orbiting so closely that its atmosphere and Corneria's actually touched once a year. That moon, however, had been destroyed four and a half centuries prior during Corneria's last global war. The remnants of that moon now formed an asteroid field around Corneria, called Meteo, and the amount of refined metal and mechanical debris in the asteroid field made it clear that the former moon was far more industrialized than any other world in the system.

This also made it dangerous for any ship emerging from a stargate in the asteroid field. That, Zoda realized as the _Havoc's Cry_ emerged from the silvery portal of one such artificial wormhole, courtesy of its own propulsion system, was probably the helmsman's intention when he charted this course. Zoda, however, was unconcerned. His Ancestor would not allow him to die after having achieved so much. He knew this. _But why, _he wondered_, did the Ancestor send me back to Lylat when I was so close to reviving him on Argonia? _He needed answers. And so, he stretched his thoughts out into the system around him, seeking the one-time friend who had been his protégé, and at the same time his mentor: Andross Oikinny. If anyone in the Lylat system was worthy to take part in Dragmire's glorious work, Zoda knew it would be Andross. Given the nature of Andross's ambitions the last time Zoda had been to the Lylat system he imagined he would be easy to find. He likely ruled most of the system by this time. However, after several minutes of searching the system, Zoda sensed no signs of Andross's presence. Further, the minds of the system's populace echoed a combined, jubilant chorus. Andross, Zoda sensed, was dead.

It was inconceivable to Zoda. There were few in the universe whom Zoda considered his peers, but Andross Oikinny was one of them. The masses had to be wrong, for he could think of no possible reason that Andross could be dead. He stretched forth his senses again, focussing more intensely on his search.

This time he found Andross. The Venomian dictator was hiding on Papetoon, one of the system's more erratic planets. As Zoda zeroed his thoughts in on Papetoon, he understood what the system's populace meant about Andross being dead.

Andross had indeed been killed. In that, the inhabitants of the system were quite correct. But Zoda knew two things about Andross that the ignorant masses did not. The first was that Andross was a psionic. No Cornerian would normally have been capable of being trained as a psionic, but Andross's repeated self-experimentation had altered his brain chemistry so drastically that the gift was there, and under Zoda's tutelage Andross had become a master of it. The second thing Zoda knew was that Andross was a skilled cloner, as was evident by the existence of the current Andross.

Zoda laughed. _Andross, you devious old viper. You feared they might overcome you, and so you cloned yourself, keeping the clones in suspended animation so you could indwell one if your own body were ever destroyed. Such craft, such guile… it has indeed been too long, old friend._

_**Drekmyr? Zodanorv Drekmyr?**_ An imposing presence filled Zoda's mind, and he realized that his psionic probing had not gone unnoticed.

**_Ah, Andross Oikinny_**, Zoda replied. **_You remember me then_**.

**_Oh, I remember, priest. What are you doing in my star system?_**

Zoda wasted no 'words.' **_Sitting on board an unmanned, quarantined Cornerian war vessel, on a direct course for Corneria itself._**

**_How the mighty have fallen_**, Andross jeered. **_Where was your precious Ancestor when you found yourself in that predicament?_**

Zoda grumbled. **_Do not insult the God-Ancestor, magister-of-science._**

Andross seemed content with having agitated Zoda. **_Temper, temper, priest. Perhaps we should speak face-to-face._**

**_Perhaps_**, Zoda agreed. **_But there is the matter of location._**

**_There are those in the Cornerian Army loyal to me_**, Andross assured him. **_I'll make sure you reach Corneria in one piece. After that, they will escort you to Papetoon at the first opportunity, and you can tell me just what you're doing in Lylat._**

**_I look forward to doing so_**, Zoda answered honestly.

Without responding, Andross withdrew his thoughts to his hideaway, leaving the Havoc's Cry moving toward Corneria, with Zoda on board.

* * *

Silence. 

The primeval woods were filled with it. Like the dense, cold fog, it hung, thick, foul, and heavy in the morning air. It pressed in upon him from all sides, its frigid fingers threatening to envelope him until even the deathly cries of the carrion birds would have seemed welcome. But they were gone, driven from their ancestral nesting grounds by an evil fouler and almost as old. In his mind he knew something about this situation was horribly wrong, and he willed himself to trun around.

But he did not turn around. He did not even hesitate. It was as though he did not control his own body, but was merely an onlooker, as though his eyes were merely vessels, out of which he saw through the eyes of another. For a single instant, one thought filled his mind, vanishing almost immediately: _I'm dreaming again_.

Then his mind cleared. He was himself again. He was Link, son of Mikal, the sole surviving descendant of the Knights of Hylia, and he'd come to this unholy place as the last hope for a dying kingdom. It had been a long trek, and true sleep had been a stranger to him for most of it, as his heightened senses kept constant vigil, rousing him at the slightest sound or movement, lest a ghastly demise befall him while he slumbered. And now, he grew weary. He was loath to stop when he knew the end of his trek was near, but his body lacked the resolve of his spirit. Just ahead, the woods opened into a clearing, with a shallow pond in the middle, and against his judgement, he decided to stop there for an hour's rest, water, and some rations.

As he approached the clearing, he un-shouldered his longbow and notched a silver-tipped arrow to it. With skills honed by his childhood years as a hunter, he silently drew back his bowstring at the clearing's edge and checked for signs of attack. Slowly, watchfully, he made his way to the pond. When he was satisfied that it was as safe as a place in this wretched forest could be, he silently laid down his bow and knelt down at the pond's edge, cupped his hands in the water, and splashed the water over his face. This he did a few more times before bringing the next bit of water to his lips to drink, gagging slightly at the bitter taste. Still, it was water, and he was dreadfully thirsty. After a few more drinks, the grime covering his face began too run off, thinned by the water, and he opened his eyes. His reflection looked back at him from the silvery pond, showing the strain of worry on his boyish face. Best not to dwell on such things, he told himself, and started to sip from the water. Had he brought the water to his lips a moment sooner he would have missed the growing shadow behind him in the mirror-surface of the water.

On reflex, he stood, spun around, and drew the Master Sword, _Eshca-Leboor_ from over his left shoulder in a single movement, bringing the silver-coated blade to bear in front of him barely in time to block the prongs of a black trident from piercing his heart. Even so, the blow caught him off guard enough that the trident's wielder was able to wrench the blade from his grasp with a twist of the handle, flinging it into the ground blade-first several yards behind. In the moment it took his attacker to lunge again Link ducked, rolled underneath the heavy weapon and dashed past his assailant toward the sword. As he reached it he drew and spun again to face his attacker, prepared this time to fight whatever hellish creature stood before him. But rather than the monster he'd anticipated, he saw at a glance that it was merely a man, draped in a dark gray robe with a hood concealing his head, trident still grasped in his hand. Link could not see the man's face, since he was still facing toward the pond. He seemed in no way worried that his intended victim now stood, armed and ready, only a few yards behind him.

"You'll forgive me if I forego the introductions, Link," the hooded one spoke in a hadean voice. "I hardly thought them necessary, since we've done this so many times before. Or do you remember?" As though to save Link the trouble of puzzling over his meaning, the hooded one turned to face Link, and Link recoiled at the sight.

As it turned out, the man Link thought to be a monster could be called either. The years had taught the creature to take on a form more closely resembling a man in its size and proportions, but his blue-skinned, piggish face with its cruel tusks still gave clear evidence of the disavowing of his humanity. The Triforce mark on the back of his right hand, with the topmost section illuminated, also told of his nature. But the clearest proof of his identity was in his blazing red eyes, eyes which some half-buried part of Link remembered from battles across ages. It was Ganondorf Dragmire.

"And now, Hero," Dragmire announced, "we end this."

_Tacoma International Airport; Seattle, Washington_

"Wake up, Slugger," Dr. J said softly. "Our flight boards in five minutes."

Mike's eyes opened, and he looked around at the airport terminal, disoriented. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer Link, fighting in a forest in Argonia's past, but was instead Mike Jones, sitting alone with Dr. J in a far corner of an airport terminal, waiting to leave for C-Island.

Dr. J apparently sensed Mike's unease, because he asked, "Mike? Are you alright?"

Mike nodded. "The book," he asked. "Where's the book?"

"You mean the Oxford Wonder World?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah. Is it in your carry-on bag?"

Dr. J reached into the bag beside his chair and pulled out the red-orange book. "It's right here. Why?"

"Open it to the last chapter?"

"What? Why?"

"Please, just open it. I have to see something."

Hesitantly, Dr. J opened to the last page, and Mike looked down at the illustration of five silhouettes, his attention drawn this time to one of the three in the center, praying he was wrong. His heart sank as he recognized the profile of the being standing between the reptilian creature and the enigmatic mustached outline. It was a humanoid form with enormous tusks, and bore a trident in it's right hand. Sadly, he pointed at it. "It's Dragmire," he groaned. "I didn't recognize him before because he looks more human-like in that picture, but it's him. He's one of the five 'champions of evil,' or whatever the phrase was."

Dr. J took his bifocals out of his shirt pocket, put them on, and gazed at the book. "Dragmire? Are you sure?"

"No doubt about it," Mike answered. "And if he's in that picture, and the chapter is telling the truth, it means Zoda's going to manage to revive him. That must be what Merlin meant when he said I would meet Zoda's god if I finished the book."

Dr. J looked at Mike worriedly. "But that means if you're going to Argonia, and if you're part of this 'Vanguard' the chapter talks about, then you're going to have to fight Dragmire _and_ Zoda before all's said and done."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "but that's not what bothers me. Remember what Merlin said about Zoda needing the blood of the seven Sages' descendants to revive Dragmire?"

Dr. J gasped. "Oh my God."

Mike slammed the book shut. "So if Zoda's going to manage to revive Dragmire, that means Mica and the others are going to die." Dr. J. made no reply. "Doc," Mike finally said. "Let's get on that plane."

13


	7. Chapter 7: They Speak Alliance Common

Chapter Seven: They Speak Alliance Common

_September 13, 1990 (Earth Reckoning)_

_Outside of Argo City, Argonia_

_"Bill, are you there?"_ A staticy voice from the communicator buried under a pile of Grey's normal gear failed to stir him from his sleep. _"Bill, this is Star Fox. Come in." _Grey would likely have slept on had it not been for Katt nearly tripping over him in her excited rush to pick up the communicator.

"Wha…what the?" He asked groggily.

"A transmission. It's McCloud," was Katt's excited reply. Immediately Bill pounced upon the stack of equipment and feverishly dug for the communicator.

"Star Fox, this is Bill Grey. And man, am I glad to hear your voice," he half-shouted when he finally found it.

_"We can catch up later, Bill,"_ Fox said jovially.

Bill grinned. "Isn't that usually my line?"

Fox couldn't help but laugh. _"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, we're in orbit and tracking your coordinates now, but where's your ship?"_

An uncomfortable silence followed. "On its way back to Corneria with a dead crew on board, and…" Grey decided not to mention the possible connections between Andross and the only living being on board the _Havoc's Cry_. "Well, just get down here. We've got fifteen survivors in need of evac. Home in on my comm signal if you need to. We can't be more than, say, twenty kilometers from the former capitol."

_"…Okay. When we get down there you've gotta tell me what happened here."_

"Then you'd best pack a lunch. See you when you land."

As the static from the communicator faded to silence, Mica approached. "Was that our rescuer-to-be?"

Grey nodded. "They'll be down here as soon as they home in on our location."

Mica sighed, relieved. "Never thought I'd be glad to see a ship coming to take me from Argonia. Then again, I guess this won't be my first time running from home, will it?"

"Kid, let me give you some free advice," Grey said as he began to sort through his equipment, preparing to leave as soon as possible. "Quit thinking like that."

It was simple advice, but Mica found it impossible. "Everything about this is just wrong, Colonel. Look at us." She waved her hand sideways at the group of Argonian children huddled around Hirocon's feet, still wearing the same clothes as the day they first left Earth, listening to the same half-encouraging talk they'd heard since their reinstated exile three days before. "We lost Argonia, got it back, and now we're running again. I can only hope Mike is able to help when we reach Earth."

"Earth?" Grey asked, clamping the communicator onto his wrist. "Oh, Qay-Dan." Mica simply nodded. "Well, about that, Kid. I'm not so sure Fox will be keen on the idea of going there."

Mica looked at him sharply. "Why not?"

It was Katt who answered. "Well, they probably have orders just to bring the _Cry_ survivors back to Lylat, nothing else, and McCloud's not one to usually go far outside the mandate of a contract. I mean, we can talk him into taking you eight with us, but going halfway across the galaxy? That's another story, hon."

Mica answered coolly. "Even where one of Andross's mentors is concerned?"

Grey nearly broke the last clasp of his communicator. "What?"

"I've been peeking at your surface thoughts, Colonel, and I know you've noticed a lot more connections between Zoda and Andross than your admitting. And you too, Major. The times of their exile are close together, the manners in which they struck back are almost identical," she stepped close to Grey and continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "And then there's the form they took."

From the irritated look on Katt's face, it seemed as though she was about to comment on the invasion of her privacy, but Grey spoke first.

"Look, Kid," Grey staggered back away from Mica, and then remembered the niceties of dealing with Royalty. "I mean, Your Highness, it wouldn't be good to go spreading that kind of talk. I mean, it's nothing but circumstantial evidence."

It sounded to Mica as though Grey was trying to convince himself rather than her, so she calmly replied, "Oh really?"

Grey's mouth opened several times as though he were about to speak but thought better of it. Finally, he fastened the last clasp of his communicator and looked toward the sky. "They'll be here soon. You'd better go tell your friends to get ready to leave, 'cause Fox won't want to hang around planetside for too long." Without waiting for a response from Mica, he and Katt both turned and walked to where the other Cornerians were gathered, a short distance away from the Argonians, to spread the news of Star Fox's imminent arrival.

_C-Island, South Seas_

"Gentlemen," the pilot of the small helicopter called to his two passengers. "We're approaching our landing site. Brace yourselves though, the landing can be a little bumpy." He smiled, apparently finding his statement funny. Mike, seatbelted tightly into one of the chairs at the back of the cockpit, did not share the pilot's amusement.

"The whole ride's been bumpy," Mike remarked.

"Are you kidding?" The pilot asked. "This's been a smooth one."

"Well it wasn't nearly this rough the last time I flew out here."

Dr. J answered for the pilot. "That was in the summer. The winds are a little more turbulent in this region in the fall."

"Makes it more fun," the pilot explained.

"Well thrill, joy, rapture, bliss!" Mike said acidly. "I feel better already." The pilot laughed, and turned his attention back to piloting the craft. Nothing else was said, save for a few muttered 'Oh Shit's' from Mike after the more turbulent gusts, until the helicopter came to a rough landing on the heli-pad at the eastern tip of C-Island's southernmost arm.

"Well," the pilot said unnecessarily, "we're here. You two can go ahead and debark."

Mike, needing no further encouragement, hastily unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his two heavy suitcases, slung his gym-bag over his shoulder, and made his way out the side door of the helicopter. Dr. J followed, both of them keeping their heads low until they were well out from under the propeller's whirling blades. Once they were a safe distance away Dr. J turned and gave a thumbs-up to the pilot, who waved back once before lifting off the ground and departing again for Honolulu. As Mike surveyed the island where his adventure originally began, only now did he realize the magnitude of his decision to come here.

"There's not going to be any going back, is there?" He asked Dr. J as the two picked up their bags and began the half-hour hike to Coralcola village. A few villagers had seen the helicopter's approach and were already on their way to meet them, having received word through Baboo, Dr. J's assistant, that the two were returning. "I mean, even when all this blows over, I'm not going to be able to go back to school like nothing ever happened after just dropping out like this, am I?"

"I don't know, Mike," Dr. J said heavily. "I really don't know."

Mike went on. "And I still don't know how I'm going to get to Argonia, or really why I'm even going. I mean, I'm starting to believe all of Merlin's talk, but I still don't know what's going on about Zoda, or Argonia, or anything else for that matter."

"Why don't you try talking to Mica?" Dr. J suggested.

Mike frowned. "That's another thing I'm worried about. I haven't heard from her since Saturday when she told me Zoda might still be alive. I tried to reach her, but…" he let the sentence die in mid air.

Dr. J immediately spoke up. "She may just be occupied, Mike. After all, she and the others were on their way back to a decimated world to try and rebuild. That can't be easy. In the meantime, we're here. You could always try and enjoy yourself. Think of it as an extension of your vacation."

Mike wrinkled his nose. "How can you even think about vacation with everything that's happening?"

This time Dr. J was not as quick to answer. "To tell the truth, Mike, something tells me relaxation time is going to be a rare and precious thing in the near future." The implications were obvious, but Mike did not respond. "But if you don't like the idea of relaxing on the beach and enjoying the attention of your 'new friend,' Miss Coralcola '90," he went on, prompting a sigh and an 'oh please' from Mike, "you could always lend me a hand at the lab."

"The lab? What're you working on now, Unc?"

"Well, since I'm not cut out for this hero business -it seems Dennis inherited my share of that and passed it on double to you- I've decided to help out the only way I know how: by digging up answers."

"And what's left to answer?"

Dr. J slowed his pace slightly. "Mike, do you remember last Monday when I asked if you knew how the Argonians spoke English?"

Mike nodded.

"Well, I asked Merlin that, and his answer was interesting."

"Interesting? Like, how?"

"He said, 'a better question would be 'how do the English speak Argonian?' I didn't ask anything after that, but the more I think about it, the more I realize there's more to the runes on the walls in that ruined temple than I realized: a lot more."

Mike contemplated that for a moment. "How do the English speak Argonian," he repeated wistfully. "But can't experts 'n' stuff trace English back to its roots?"

Dr. J. nodded. "They can indeed, most notably," he paused for effect, "Latin."

Mike looked questioningly at his uncle. "So, uh, what's the big deal about Latin?"

"Latin, if you'll recall, was the language mixed with Argonian in the cipher."

"Dude," Mike said slowly. "This is weird."

"Tell me about it, Mike. Tell me about it."

_Outside Argo City, Argonia_

_It's easy to see where the name 'Star Fox' came from_, Mica thought as she and the other Argonian children watched Hirocon, Katt, and Colonel Grey speak to the Cornerian mercenaries who, in contrast to the resplendent uniforms of the Cornerian soldiers, wore simple-looking clothes with identical gray flight jackets. _Their leader's name is Fox, and he's a fox. Looks a lot like the Terran animal of the same name._ For that matter, as she surveyed the all the Cornerians present, it occurred to her that they all resembled the Terran species to bear the same name as their subspecies, except that the Cornerian subspecies were what Terrans would call 'Humanoid.' Not one to believe in coincidence, Mica made a mental note to look into the reasons for the similarities at some later date. For now, though, there were more pressing concerns.

From where Mica and the other children stood, their elongated ears enabled them to hear the snippets of the conversation taking place. They couldn't hear everything, but Mica felt she knew two things. One, she knew the names of the members of the Star Fox Team, and two, Hirocon and Colonel Grey, having already recounted the story of Zoda's attack and return, were trying to persuade the leader, Fox McCloud, that going to Earth was necessary. As far as Mica could tell, Fox had not yet said whether he agreed or not, but rather continued to listen to Hirocon's explanation of the need for the trip.

"What're they saying, Princess?" Saera asked eagerly, bouncing up and down in place as her curiosity overcame her.

Mica strained her ears to hear. "Well, Father and Colonel Grey are advocating the trip, but one of the team, the dark blue fox (I think I heard them call her 'Krystal') keeps saying that star is evil. She's saying…" she strained her ears more before shaking her head in defeat. "I can't tell."

"She's saying her people had legends of that star," Rauren calmly finished. "She says they believed that the gods once fought a war against beings from that star."

Mica wrinkled her brow. "Had? Believed?"

Rauren nodded. "She keeps using past tense when she talks about her people. Not sure why."

Naberra nodded her head in the direction of the conversation. "So what's beak-guy saying?" She asked, referring to a blue-feathered, bird-like Cornerian standing immediately behind Fox, leaning up against the back the landing shuttle that brought the team to the ground. It seemed that he, for the first time since their landing, had decided to enter the conversation.

Mica turned her attention back to the conversation in time to hear Katt say sarcastically, "in your dreams, Falco."

"Hey, look," Fox said, stepping between the two. "We don't have time for this." The rest of Fox's words were lost amid a moment of back-and-forth banter between Katt and the one called 'Falco.'

As the debate went on, Mica noticed two members of the Star Fox Team that had yet to enter the discussion. They were a wide-eyed toad, and a hare who, judging by his face, was decades older than any of the others there. The two of them, she saw after another moment of observation, were holding their own conversation. Despite Mica's effort, she was not able to tell anything about the topic, though, because the two whispered. Before Mica could make any judgements, however, she noticed the entire entourage, save for Katt and Grey who approached their Cornerian comrades, coming toward the children. At the front of the group was Fox McCloud, the head of their team of rescuers.

"You're Highness," spoke the brown-haired Cornerian fox with wild, rustic features. "I understand the trip to Qay-dan was your idea originally."

Mica nodded. "It was, sir."

"Just 'Fox,' if you don't mind," Fox corrected her with a grin. "We're not soldiers, and we're not nobles."

"Well we are," Impek said gruffly, earning a sharp blow to his ribs from Naberra's elbow.

Mica, ignoring the comment and unwilling to lose the momentum she hoped her father had been able to build, went on. "Fox then. And yes, it was my idea, and I stand by it."

Falco made an unusual squawking sound that Mica appraised as a derisive snort before Fox continued. "Your dad said you would. Tell me, Miss, do you have any idea how often Lylatians have been out that far?"

"I wasn't aware Lylatians had _ever_ been out that far," Mica answered calmly.

"That's right. We haven't. Even in our fastest ship," he smirked as he pointed toward the sky, "and trust me, Command didn't exactly give us one of the fastest. But even for our fastest ship that would be a good week-long trip. In this garbage scow Pepper stuck us with, it'd be closer to two weeks."

Two weeks. The words fell upon Mica's ears like a death knell. "But that would give Zoda enough time to…"

As Mica choked on the sound of her voice, Hirocon finished for her. "To return and wipe out anything he and the Aparoids missed."

"So if we're going to make this trip," Fox said warningly, I've got to know 'A,' it's worth it, and 'B,' there's no alternative."

In the silence that followed, Mica realized the Star Fox Team's eyes, as well as the eyes of the other six children, were all focussed directly on her. _Father's right there, and it's still got to be me who makes a decision that could alter the fate of Argonia._ She thought of Zoda, returning to an undefended Argonia to finish a job he left incomplete two decades before. She thought of the war-ravaged Lylat System, largely unaware of the tyrant in their midst. And mostly, she thought of Mike, "Commander McCloud-"

"Fox," Fox corrected again.

"Fox," Mica recovered. "Believe me when I tell you that there is no one else who has a chance against Zoda. And trust me," she took on the tone of a young woman speaking more to herself than anyone else. "Going to Earth is very, very worth it."

Fox sighed, apparently deciding that he would follow Mica's advice. "Alright," he said skeptically. "Alright. We'll drop the _Havoc's Cry_ survivors off on Corneria, then we'll go. But while we're on the way, you eight who've been there need to start thinking of a way around a few problems. Like for one thing, who's going to interpret their language for us?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem, Commander… Fox," Hirocon noted. "You see, that's one of the funny things about that world. They speak Alliance Common there."

In one movement, five Cornerian heads turned toward Hirocon and five Cornerian jaws went slack. "What?!" Five Cornerians asked in unison. One of them, Krystal, went on to ask, "how can a system so far out speak the tongue of the Alliance?"

"It's not so unbelievable," Rute offered his opinion, "when you consider how the language came to be Alliance common in the first place. When Argonian explorers first arrived in the Lylat system, they discovered-"

"Yeah, kid," Falco sighed. "We know. All the planets there spoke the same language as Argonia. 'The Great Anomaly,' historians call it."

"But this is such a distant world," Krystal insisted, turning toward Fox. "Fox, I don't like this. I don't like it at all. Both your world and mine have ancient stories about the evil of that star, and now we find that they speak the tongue of our forebears? It's an ill omen, Fox. An ill omen."

Considering Krystal's worry, Fox turned skeptically back to Mica, who looked back at him with resolve. "Peppy," Fox said over his shoulder, "whatta you think?"

"I think if I'm gonna be the one who makes the big decisions around here, then you can stay on the ship doing tech support and I'll be the one flying the Arwing Mk 2," said the old hare in an ornery tone.

Fox took the time to shoot an annoyed look at the hare named Peppy before turning back to face Mica.

"Fox," Mica assured him, "we've been there. The world isn't evil. The people there were actually very kind, and Mike Jones, a man from that world, is our only hope." If Hirocon took note of the reference to Mike as a man rather than a boy, he made no mention of it.

Fox shook his head and laughed darkly. "I must be out of my mind," he muttered. "Alright, princess. We'll go to Qay-dan, or should I say 'Earth?'"

_Dr. Andross Oikinny's Lab; Papetoon_

"Lord Andross," a Cornerian reptile spoke into the dark lab, illuminated only by dim blue lights, "I have two pieces of news: one good, and one better."

"Tell me the first," Andross said, already fairly certain of the reptile's report.

"The Argonian Priest has arrived, safe, and undetected by Cornerian Command," the lizard rasped.

"Good," Andross commented, not looking away from a set of glass tubes in which floated a formless mass of indistinct flesh, suspended in a bubbling liquid. "Send him here. And the second piece of news?"

The lizard grinned. "We were also able to secure the ship that bore him here."

At that, Andross paused in his work for a moment. "The dreadnought?"

"Yes, my lord. It is mostly undamaged, and will make a fine flagship for you."

Andross laughed, a low, rumbling laugh that reverberated throughout the vast lab. "Outstanding."

The lizard opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced as a shadow darkened the door. He turned and, recognizing the guest, started to greet him. The greeting never escaped his mouth, however, as he found himself torn apart atom by atom in a single burst of focussed psionic force.

Andross turned from his work and looked at the ashen dust on the ground, the only remnant of the guard. "Was that really necessary, Zoda?"

"He tried to take credit for securing the ship I worked so hard to obtain," Zoda replied nonchalantly.

"Yes, but bungling as he was, a live soldier makes a better guard than a powdery stain on the floor," Andross countered, and there was silence.

"Well, it's good to see you too, old friend," Zoda finally said mockingly.

Andross 'tut-tutted' softly. "Oh, come now, Zoda. Are you going to go into a huff over a few forgotten pleasantries? I would have expected a priest to be a bit more forgiving."

Zoda harrumphed loudly. "If the small-talk is out of the way-"

"Yes, yes," The Cornerian-born ape scientist waved a hand, "it is, and welcome to Papetoon. I must confess myself surprised to see you in Lylat though. I thought you would be building temples to your ancestor upon the ruins of Argonia's cities by now."

That earned another harrumph from Zoda. "Dragmire will have no need for temples when he is revived. But what about you? Shouldn't you be master of Lylat by now?"

Andross snorted. "It would seem neither of us has enjoyed quite the results we expected when we parted company those twenty years ago."

"So it would," Zoda agreed. "What went wrong for you?"

Andross ground his teeth together. "Did I ever tell you of 'Star Fox?'"

"James McCloud's team?" Zoda asked. "Your turncoat pilot Pigma Dengar told me the tale, but I thought McCloud died in Dengar's betrayal. At least that's what Dengar led me to believe."

"James McCloud is twenty-nine years dead," Andross affirmed. "It's his son who's been a consistent thorn in my side. What about you, though? Argonia couldn't have put up much resistance. Besides, you have that artifact Vulcan retrieved from Solar's core."

Zoda nodded, felxing the fingers on his right hand as he was reminded of the Triforce mark there. "The Triforce of courage did indeed prove useful in subduing the planet, especially after the Regent was kind enough to hand over one of its mates to me. And rest assured, Argonia is a wasteland now. The difficulty came when the Regent learned of my intentions and hid the Sages' descendants on a planet half a galaxy away: a planet that held a few… surprises for the acolytes I sent there."

"And these 'acolytes' were foiled by a few refugees from peace-loving Argonia," Andross mocked.

"Actually, they were beaten by someone who could present a potential problem in the future, and who will be one of Lord Dragmire's first victims once he is revived."

"Lord Dragmire," Andross muttered. "Well, speaking of pigs, Pigma Dengar is now dead."

"Oh? How?"

"After the Aparoids infected him, he was killed by McCloud's son," Andross answered, returning his focus to the fleshy mass in the fluid-filled tube in front of him. "The same Aparoid colony that killed my nephew," he growled.

Zoda slowly approached him, arms crossed. "I take it, then, from your interest in this experiment" he said, nodding at the mass in the tube, "that this is what remains of your nephew and you're in the process of regenerating him."

Andross stood up and spun around, pointing an angry finger in Zoda's face. "Do you honestly believe I would do that to the memory of my own nephew? To regrow him in a test tube like some kind of fungus?!"

Zoda took a step backward and held up his hands apologetically. "I meant no offense by it, Andross," he said quietly, but not fearfully.

The gesture seemed to placate Andross, and after a few more moments of glaring at Zoda, the scientist took his seat again. "But you're partly correct. This scrap of muscle is all that remains of one victim of the Aparoid invasion, and if I'm correct it will be enough to read his DNA pattern and regenerate his body. That makes your timing fortunate, priest, because you can help with a mind to go with it."

Zoda nodded. "Indeed. And just who is this victim, to warrant so much effort to bring them back from the dead?"

Andross waited a minute before answering. "Dengar."

The red coals that were Zoda's eyes widened with realization. "Is it indeed? My, my."

Andross grunted. "Yes, you always did seem fond of the traitor."

Zoda shrugged. "The nature of his subspecies seemed to predispose him toward greatness. I'd think you would have had a certain esteem for him too, after he handed McCloud to you on a plate."

Andross turned to face Zoda, a snide reply forming behind his lips, only to find Zoda suddenly staring away as if looking into the far reaches of space at a sudden interruption. "Priest," the barest twinge of concern robbed Andross's voice of a mote of its usual authority. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Zoda replied distantly. "But why in Dragmire's name would Jones be back on that…" He trailed off and shook his head as if to rid himself of a haze of confusion. "Never mind, never mind."

Andross needed no encouragement to dismiss Zoda's problem. "Speaking of McCloud, the younger at least," he picked up an earlier tack in the conversation as though the diversion had not occurred, "my Cornerian operatives tell me he's been deployed on a deep-space assignment."

Zoda could not imagine why that fact would be of importance, but in the interest of tact he feigned curiosity. "Oh? Where?"

Andross drew his reply out meaningfully. "Argonia."

Zoda's interest was no longer false as he considered the implications of that statement. "Why would Corneria send another unit there when their last came back quarantined, and with a dead crew?"

Andross answered, "according to my spies, the team was sent in response to a distress signal from Colonel Billiard Grey. Does that name have any meaning to you?"

"Should it?"

"It would seem so, since you returned to Lylat aboard his ship."

"Impossible," Zoda spat. "Every Cornerian on that ship died. I saw to that!"

"Yes," Andross answered smoothly. "But what about every Cornerian on the ground?"

Zoda stood in stunned silence for a split second before shrieking a curse Andross couldn't have repeated if he tried. _Of course, _Zoda rebuked himself. _Blood of the Ancestor, how could I have been so foolish. The ship was landed, and close to the city. Of course they would have had a team on the ground re-establishing ties._ "If that's the case, than the stranded Cornerians, as well as the survivors of Argonia, will soon have access to a ship. I would guess that their destination is Corneria. If the Argonians and Cornerian Command start comparing notes," he looked at Andross with severity in his eyes, "they may turn up some things we would prefer to keep hidden."

"Agreed," was Andross's response. "What will we do about it?"

Zoda took a few slow, ponderous steps toward the table. "It would seem we need to go to Argonia and put a stop to McCloud's little rescue."

"And how are we going to get there? What was left of my armada was crushed in the invasion, and you seem to have neglected to bring a ship of your own."

"Yes. But what I _did _bring," Zoda spoke slowly, conspiratorially, "was a Cornerian Dreadnought, one of the most potent warships in the history of the Alliance. So tell me, Doctor. Do we have a plan?"

A razor-toothed grin split Andross's Simian face. "We do indeed, Drekmyr. We do indeed."

_September 14, 1990_

_Dr. Jones Island Lab; C-Island, South Seas_

The first rays of morning sunlight shining through the enormous glass-domed roof of Dr. J's lab awoke Mike earlier than he would have liked. "Damn the time change," he muttered, yawning and remembering for the first time since his arrival on the island to set his watch from Pacific time to… "What time zone is this anyway?"

"Let's just say local time is 6:13 A.M, but who's keeping track?" Dr. J said from across the vast expanse that was the living room. Mike looked at Dr. J in surprise for a moment, then grinned, remembering his uncle's tendency for starting his day with the sun. At the moment, Dr. J was in the process of shoveling some kind of cereal into his mouth from a bowl that had once been half the shell of a coconut. He stared down at his research notes, which, Mike noted, sat on the tabletop in the place where the morning paper would have been if it had been Dennis at the table instead. "Any more dreams?"

Mike shook his head. "No time I guess. I only slept for, like, four hours or so. Any progress with the language thing?"

Dr. J crunched particularly noisily on a spoonful of cereal and shook his head. "Jack scratch, as I think your generation would say," he said once he swallowed the mouthful.

"I think you mean 'jack squat,' but I get the idea," Mike responded as he unzipped his sleeping bag, stood up and stretched again.

Dr. J. rolled his eyes dismissively. "Slang comes and goes. I can't keep up with it. The shaman came by and asked about you, by the way."

The change of subject was so abrupt Mike spent a moment nodding absent-mindedly before he picked up on it. "She knew I was here?" Doctor J. said nothing in response, opting instead to look over the top of his bifocals at Mike. The message, no matter how silent, was clear, and that message was 'duh.' "But how?"

"Perhaps she divined it through the stars," Dr. J said, dropping his voice and allowing a mystical tone to seep into it. "Or perhaps she found out the same way everyone else on the island did: Baboo."

"Oh. Duh, Mike," Mike said.

"Yes, it was a bit of a silly question," Dr. J agreed. "In any case, she wanted to know… well, basically the same thing I'd like to ask."

"Which is?"

"Which is what's next for the hero of Argonia?"

Mike groaned. "A cold shower," he said grumpily. "And then breakfast. After that, your guess is as good as mine."

"I'm serious, Mike."

"I know that, Uncle Steve. It's just that… well, to be honest I haven't got a plan. I really don't even have a place to start. All I know is that if I'm going to Argonia like Merlin said, it just feels like this is where I should be until then. I mean, this is where it all started, right?"

Dr. J nodded.

"And this is where the Argonians left from, right?"

Dr. J nodded again. "As a matter of fact, this is all of Earth they saw."

"Right," Mike carried on. "So if they come back or something, this is probably where they're going to come, right?"

Dr. J. looked skeptical. "You really believe they're coming back to Earth?"

Mike shuffled his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. "I really don't know, Unc. But I hope she does."

Dr. J stared back at Mike, his face unreadable. Finally he said, "go ahead downstairs and get your shower, Mike." As Dr. J looked back down at his research notes Mike nodded and started for the hallway that led to the first floor. "Oh, by the way," Dr. J said off-handedly just as Mike's hand touched the door.

"Hmm?" Mike stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Something to think about while you're in the shower."

"What's that?"

"Think carefully about why you really came back here, Mike."

Mike wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Whatta you mean by that?"

Dr. J looked back up from his research notes and leaned across the dining table, speaking slowly and carefully. "When I asked about the Argonians, I said 'they.' When you answered, you said 'she.'" The doctor raised his eyebrows to emphasize the point before turning back to his research notes, this time actually returning his full attention to them. It was almost a full minute before he heard the sound of the door opening and closing as Mike left.


	8. Chapter 8: A Reason to Fight

Chapter Eight: A Reason to Fight

_Well, here I am. For eight days now, I've been back on C-Island after dropping out of school, and reality with it, and man… this place just isn't the same without the Argonians here. Oh, the villagers have all been as nice as I remembered them. Well, except for Baboo, Dr. J's assistant, who seems like he keeps avoiding me, but that's okay. He's probably just afraid of a rematch from that fishing contest this summer. No sweat though. I can lie on the beach and just hang loose. The tropical sun feels great after a rainy Seattle Autumn too. Yeah, I did it. I finally convinced myself to take Dr. J's advice and relax a little bit, instead of worrying about what's going to happen next with the whole Zoda/Dragmire/Merlin/Vanguard thing. Of course, it hasn't been possible to get away from it completely. For instance…_

_…the shamaness paid me a visit yesterday. Yeah. She was just like I remembered her: all "may the stars watch over you" and "do not despair, the Southern Cross will guide you" and "May the Force be with you…" okay. So she didn't exactly say that last one, but that's what it felt like. Anyway, she asked me what brought me to C-Island, and I fought down the urge to say, "a flying machine called a helicopter." She never seemed the type to appreciate a good joke, y'know? But yeah, I told her the whole story. Blah blah blah, dreams, blah blah, Dragmire, blah blah, ninth chapter, blah blah blah, on and on and on, all the way up to the "so here I am" part. And guess what. Shock of all shocks, she wasn't the least bit surprised. It turns out Merlin was already here and he warned her that I'd be coming back. The shamaness knows Merlin. Perfect. How Mickey Mouse is that? I got the feeling she knew something else too, something she didn't want me to know. I tried to read her surface thoughts and figure it out, but I just haven't quite gotten that down yet. Or maybe I have, but it wasn't on the surface. I don't know. Anyway, I couldn't tell anything from her._

_So enough about the shamaness._

_Something about the island just isn't quite how I remembered it. It's like… well, as corny as it sounds, it's like it's lost its magic. It kind of sucks, really. All that time sitting in my room, staring out the window off toward the southwest thinking "I can't wait to go back," and it was all for this? What a let-down. The weird thing is that… well, this is the part I'd never admit out loud, but I may be starting to realize what's missing. If I'm right, it would also answer Dr. J's jab about "think about why you really came back." There's something that was on this island every time I've come here except that first trip where I found out Dr. J had been abducted, something that's at the center of almost every cool memory I have from this island, even though I never thought of it before. The Argonians._

_…Actually, let me be more specific. The Argonian that always seemed to be smiling, even in spite of the nightmare they went through; the Argonian that I seemed to go everywhere with last summer; the only Argonian I kept in touch with (sort of) after I left the island. Mica. Mica is what's missing from the island. It wasn't the island I wanted to get back to. It was Mica. It's stupid, really. I can't afford to fall for Mica. She's a princess, after all. But then again, I'm a hero now. And you know how the books all end. The hero gets the princess, and they live happily ever after, and the little kids cheer, and everyone else gags, you know the routine. But me? And Mica? I mean Hell's bells, I've never even kissed the same girl twice. I'm all Dumbo ears and freckles that won't go away and hair that won't stay combed and she's just, well…_

_Beauty incorruptible, an angel of wisdom true, a light for countless worlds. The voice in the Southern Cross._

_That's it. The poem, "Southern Cross Princess." I never had a poetic bone in my body, and then that assignment came out. I should've known there was a reason for it. I should've known when I turned it in that there was some kind of reason why I was able to come up with that. It was because the perfect girl just totally fell out of the sky, literally, and I didn't even notice until she went back to it. And I'm starting to think that the reason why I stepped up to be the hero Merlin talked about, the reason why I came back to the island, and the reason why I'm going to Argonia (somehow) to fight in this ninth-chapter Vanguard war… the whole reason is Mica._

_-From the Journal of Mike Jones; September 20, 1990_

* * *

Mike closed his journal with a sigh. It had been ten days since the day he had poured his heart into that entry, and it still hurt to read it, largely because Mica had been silent since before Mike had come to C-Island. He'd tried to contact her telepathically more times than he could count, and his attempts grew more frequent with each passing day, but there had yet been no response. Of course, that meant very little. Mike's focus had been virtually nonexistent of late. It was perfectly plausible that he simply had not been able to speak across the gulf of stars between Earth and Argonia because he could not concentrate enough.

At least that's what he told himself. Because the alternative…

"Morning, Slugger," Dr. J said cheerfully as he entered the room with two paper plates in his hands, and two ceramic bottles clutched perilously in the crooks of his elbows. "How does fish and coconut milk sound for breakfast?"

Mike offered a momentary silent 'thank-you' to the universe for the diversion before grinning back as he accepted one of the plates and a bottle with it. "It would've sounded great this morning, but it's two in the afternoon."

"Oh, so you've finally learned to tell the difference then. Good, good." Dr. J's joke prompted the expected rolling of Mike's eyes. "I wondered when you were going to get your sleep schedule out of owl mode. Well then, how does fish and coconut milk sound for a mid-afternoon meal?"

"Not too bad, doc," Mike said tiredly. "Not too bad." Something in Mike's tone caught Dr. J's attention, and he didn't need his brother's psychiatric expertise to know what was on his nephew's mind. For a moment he pondered how to broach the subject. Mike, however, did it for him. "It's because I've been here for two and a half weeks and absolutely nothing has happened, doc, and I'm getting antsy." At Dr. J's puzzled look, Mike commented, "yeah, I did scan your surface thoughts."

Dr. J nodded, not incredibly thrilled with Mike's sudden tendency to use his psionic power so casually, but he said nothing, instead allowing Mike to go on.

"To be honest, if it weren't for the dreams, I'd start to think everything since the third had been a dream itself." After a moment of awkward silence, Mike changed the subject. "So where'd the fish come from? And don't say 'the sea' either."

"Baboo brought it by," Dr. J answered. "I invited him in to eat with us, but he said he had something else to do and took off."

Mike frowned. "What's his deal anyway?"

"Hmm?"

"Baboo," Mike said a bit bitterly. "The dude's been avoiding me like a clingy ex-girlfriend. He hasn't said two words to me since we got here. Come to think of it, I haven't even seen him the whole time we've been here, and for that matter I didn't see him when the book spat me out here either. What's the deal there? I mean, I thought we were cool when I left this summer."

Dr. J shrugged, biting back a jab about the unlikelihood of Mike knowing anything about a clingy ex-girlfriend. "You may be reading too much into it, Mike. He may just be busy. After all, Fall is storm season here, and there's a hell of a lot for the islanders to do. Honestly, it's a testament to their cultural generosity that they even take the time to acknowledge us."

Mike harrumphed. "Well, he could at least manage a 'yo dude' and a wave or something."

Dr. J waited a second before replying calmly, "I'm sure it's nothing, Mike. But if you're that worried, talk to him yourself. He'll be at the south moor later this afternoon helping haul in the day's catch. Why don't you drop in? In fact," he spoke only a bit more heavily, "since you're going to be here a while, why don't you start heading down to the village to help with the work from time to time? I'm quite certain they can put an extra set of hands to good use."

Mike nodded. "I thought about that. I mean, I guess I should start pulling my own weight." He continued nodding, as if reasoning with himself. "Yeah. I'll do that. Unless you need my help around the lab or something."

Dr. J shook his head lightly. "There's precious little requiring my attention here except that blasted cipher, and there's not much you can do to help there I'm afraid."

Mike chuckled at the annoyance which seeped into Dr. J's voice when the subject of the cipher came up. "I guess no big eurekas in the cipher world then, eh?"

The nudge was all it took to spawn a rant that had been building within the archaeologist for weeks. "Nothing! And I've tried looking at it from every angle imaginable too, looking for any possible way that the English language could have come about through Argonian influence. I tried looking for an Argonian influence in French, since the Norman Conquest imposed a heavy French influence on English, but I couldn't find a single syllable the two had in common. The same occurred when I tried looking for a connection between Argonian and German. So I decided to go with the obvious. I tried looking at the language's Latin roots, but the only connection between Latin and Argonian is that cipher where they were used interchangeably."

Mike shrugged, sipping the last of his coconut milk. "Well, Link did come to Earth around the time of the Roman Empire. Maybe Ancient Hylian had an influence on Latin."

Dr. J pointed a finger at Mike, nodding. "I thought of that as well. But here's the problem with that. Modern Argonian is as far removed from Hylian as English is from Latin. I might even say more so. So how did the language on Argonia evolve from Hylian to Argonian while a mixture of Hylian and supposedly-Hylian-influenced-Latin picked up spare words from every other language in Europe and cobbled them together into the same language here on Earth? And in roughly the same number of centuries as well? It's not feasible, Mike. It's too much of a coincidence. The only way you could achieve that kind of parallel linguistic evolution would be if someone were consciously guiding the development of language on both worlds every step of the way, picking and choosing what words and grammar patterns would stay and which would go. But Merlin never mentioned anything common between Earth and Argonia with that kind of…" His eyes widened at the end of the sentence as though the last word held the secret to the universe's existence. After a moment of curious onlooking from Mike, Dr. J slapped himself in the forehead with enough force that Mike cringed from the sound. "That kind of _power_," Dr. J groaned, speaking more to himself now than to Mike. "Power, as in triple power, as in _Triforce_ of Power!"

Mike shook his head. "Huh?"

"Mike," Dr. J said excitedly, "you're a genius!" With that he bolted for the door leading to the basement where he kept his research notes, leaving Mike to stare blankly at the half-eaten plate of fish he left behind.

"You're welcome," Mike called down the hall after a few moments then whispered, "I'm not sure what for though."

_September 30, 1990 (Same Day)_

_Crew Lounge of the Cornerian Patrol Ship_ Foxfire

Mica forced herself not to groan at the site of yet another computer-replicated facsimile of a bowl of Argonian spitter scrub salad as it materialized on the food synthesizing counter in front of her. True, the taste made her gag, but food was food. Besides, it would not do well to appear ungracious in front of her hosts. Trying to focus more on how hungry she was and less on how disgusting the synthetic protein imitation was, she turned from the panel and walked toward a couch-like piece of furniture along the exterior wall of the lounge, facing away from the window. Having spent the majority of her life without seeing the inside of an aircraft, much less a starship, she found the sight of the stars streaking past her a bit discomforting. Besides, the Star Fox Team occupied most of the seats along the opposite wall, and while she was not uncomfortable around them, nor they with her, it was at the same time clear that the five of them shared a camaraderie of which she was not part. So, with the other seven Argonians aboard the ship asleep (for concepts like night and day quickly lost their meaning in the vastness of space between star systems), Mica contented herself to sit alone with her thoughts and her spitter scrub salad.

As she slowly (for that was the only way she could stomach it) forced down one bite of the concoction after another, she watched the five Cornerians sitting on the sofa (or perhaps it was a bench) along the opposite wall, considering what an unlikely ally they were for the Argonian refugees. Colonel Grey and Major Monroe had taken their leave of the group during their brief stop on Corneria, as expected, leaving only these five and their Argonian guests, and Mica had taken the just-over-two-week trip to familiarize herself with them. It hadn't taken her long to realize that there was a marked difference between the solid, formal, military manner of Grey's crew and the casual, almost locker-room style of the mercenary team.

From what she'd gathered, Peppy Hare was by far the oldest member of the team, having served with Fox's father on an earlier team, which also carried the name Star Fox. She had also learned that asking Peppy or Fox about this earlier team was a sure way to lower the temperature in the room by ten degrees. It seemed to Mica that Peppy's status on the team was one of semi-retirement, having abdicated his place on the team to the younger Krystal a few years back. Now, he acted as tech support, as well as a reserve pilot.

If Peppy's place as the oldest on the team was obvious, Slippy Toad's place as the youngest was equally so, even if the age gap between him and the rest of the team was less than a year. The confessed weakest pilot of the team, Slippy still took great care to remind everyone that being the weakest pilot on the Star Fox Team made him the fifth best pilot on Corneria. Despite Fox's insistence that Slippy's main contribution to the team was his mechanical expertise, when it came to any debate about whether the team should exercise caution or simply fly in full throttle with guns blazing, it was always Slippy who advocated the headlong approach. At least so Mica had heard from the other four team members. Though Peppy and Slippy seemed at a glance to be the polar opposite ends of the team's social spectrum, it seemed to Mica that they actually had more in common than any two members of the team, beginning with a similarly dark background.

Both Slippy and Peppy were members of subspecies that had become nearly extinct after Corneria's last global war (another thermostat-lowering subject for any of the Cornerians). The devastation wrought upon both their ancestral homelands had been so severe that even most family names had been somehow forgotten. And so their races, in an effort to forge for themselves a new, united identity, had taken to using the name of their subspecies as a surname, a tradition which both Slippy and Peppy continued.

The last non-vulpine member of the team, and the only one whose piloting nearly rivaled that of the team's leader, was Falco Lombardi, a member of the Avian subspecies. In Mica's two weeks aboard the ship, she had only heard the Avian speak three times. Early on in the voyage Mica had been prompted by this silence to ask Fox if she or her companions had done something to offend Falco, but Fox laughed the issue off, saying that was simply Falco's way. It also occurred to Mica that Falco's unfriendly exterior was something of a front. After hinting to the other team members that she thought this, she'd found it to be a half-truth. Though he was loyal to his teammates and their cause (indeed, every member of the team could tell of a fight when Falco had risked his life to save theirs without hesitation), his 'lone-wolf' tendency did indeed appear to be genuine. A few scans of Falco's surface thoughts confirmed this, and Mica made a note to give the Avian his space.

The greatest enigma among the Cornerians, however, was Krystal, the blue-furred vixen with no known last name. Though she bore the appearance of Cornerian heritage, she had, in her conversations with Mica, mentioned growing up on a world called Cerinia (sometimes pronounced closer to Cyrenia). Also, unlike any other Cornerian Mica had met, Krystal was a telepath, albeit her power was not as strong as that of a psionic. Mica had also learned that Krystal was the newest member of the team, having missed the war against the Venomian dictator Andross. Even so, Krystal had her own history with Andross, as it was him who destroyed her homeworld, a world which Krystal appeared to have loved. Mica could not help but empathize with Krystal on the rare occasion she discussed her homeworld. In Krystal's case, however, there had not been even a devastated world to which she could return, but merely a cloud of cometary dust where it had once been. Still, Krystal appeared to have found a new love, this time in the form of a person.

That person, whose shoulder Krystal reclined against at the moment, was Fox McCloud, the team's leader and, according to Peppy and Slippy, the best pilot in the Lylat System. Though thirty years of age, Fox's untamed grin and wild, gleaming eyes gave him the air of a teenager. In fact, he had been a teenager, as had Slippy and Falco, during the war with Andross. Mica had to admit to herself that she had no trouble seeing what Krystal saw in Fox, as well as what made him so well-liked by the rest of the team. With unabashed charm, wall-to-wall charisma and excited optimism only exceeded by Slippy, it seemed to Mica that Fox could inspire heroism in the meekest coward simply by his presence in the room. She couldn't help but think that, had Fox been born twenty years earlier on Argonia, Zoda and his cult would have been little more than a distant memory.

Perhaps it was the intrusive thought of Zoda, or perhaps it was an uncharacteristically large bite of replicated spitter scrub salad, but something about Mica's countenance was downcast enough to catch Krystal's attention. Mica scarcely noticed Krystal gesture toward Fox, and took little notice as the two foxes stood up, excused themselves from the other three Cornerians, and walked across the room to where Mica sat. In fact, it was not until Fox asked, "mind if we sit here?" that Mica noticed them.

Blushing slightly, partly at having been caught so unaware of their approach and partly at Fox asking permission to sit next to her when she was a guest, Mica replied softly, "by all means. It's your ship after all."

"Actually," Krystal said in her crisp, accented voice as she took a seat next to Mica, "it's the Army's ship."

"Yeah, "Fox added as he sat next to Krystal, opposite from Mica. "Ours kinda exploded, and we're using this one until we get a new one. But enough about us."

Mica looked from Fox to Krystal, politely waiting for one of them to continue, which Krystal did. "You seem a little uneasy about something."

Mica, courteously neglecting to bring up the fact that the only thing on the ship making her uneasy was the computer's version of her favorite Argonian delicacy, coupled with the torturous fact that it seemed to be the only Argonian dish programmed into the synthesizer's databanks, quickly settled on a cover story. "I guess I'm a little apprehensive about going back to Earth." After she said it, Mica realized that the sentence bore more truth than she'd realized.

Krystal nodded her understanding, though Mica somehow doubted Krystal truly understood as well as she thought. "I know. I know how you feel. This star we're going to is…" she sighed. "Well, no one in the Lylat system would be thrilled over going there."

Eager for anything that would take her mind off of her worries about what she would say to Mike, Mica decided that was as good an opportunity as any to ask. "Krystal, why does this star system scare you so much?"

Krystal fought back an involuntary shudder and Fox, sensing it, put his arm around her protectively. "It's just something my people once believed," Krystal said. Mica nodded, silently Krystal to go on. "My people believed that our ancestors were created by a demon called Cyrus to serve as slaves, and even long after Cyrus's death we were held prisoner by his evil until four centuries ago when the gods rescued us. They say that a few of the gods fell in love with a few of our ancestors, married them and had children, which is why my people are telepaths." Krystal glanced at Mica before going on. "The point is, in the picture language of my people, Cyrus is always represented by the same symbol that represents that star on astrological charts."

"That's all?" The words were out of Mica's mouth before she had time to temper them with any tact, and she cringed as she heard how derisive the question sounded.

"Actually," Fox spoke before Mica had time to apologize for the outburst, "there's more. First off, like you heard back before we left Argonia, there are a lot of religions in the Lylat System that think the gods fought a war at the beginning of time, and the enemy the gods were fighting came from that star. And since the religions that believe this all developed on different planets before space travel was even conceived, a lot of historians think there's probably some kind of truth underneath the myths. But to tell you the truth, princess, that's not the thing that bothers me the most about that star."

Mica spoke calmly and easily. "Then what does bother you, Fox?"

Fox sighed, his smile diminishing. "While you've been here, have you heard anything about Corneria's last global war?"

"You and your team have made mention of it, but that's all." Mica considered a comment on the possibility of scanning one of their minds for the information, but thought better of it.

Fox nodded, a disheartened nod that made clear he had hoped she had heard, and would surmise some meaning from the question without need for an explanation. "It happened five centuries ago, but Corneria still hasn't fully recovered from it. To hear the history books tell it, there was a 'Great War' between the Cornerians and another race. The Cornerians were on the verge of winning when a third faction appeared: a super high-tech empire that sprung up and swallowed most of the planet in a decade. At the end of that decade the war had changed focus to the so-called 'Techno-empire' on one side, and a few scattered rebels on the other. Historians don't all agree, but they most of them say the leaders of the Techno-empire were the same as the anti-Cornerian race."

Mica nodded, straining her brain to see the connection between Corneria's global war and Earth, but failing.

Fox, as though sensing Mica's effort, continued. "Information from that century is kind of scarce, but from what we do know, this empire could have taught Venom a few tricks about cruelty and brutality. They weren't interested in conquering or ruling anything, they just destroyed everything in their path outright, and never left survivors. We're not quite sure how the rebels eventually won, except that the Canine nation was the only country the empire didn't smash." he looked at Krystal, asking for her to finish, which she did.

"The point, Your Highness, is the rebels were the ancestors of modern Cornerians, while the other race, the one they fought before the Techno-empire, claimed to have been brought from a world across the stars twelve hundred years prior by the gods."

Mica shook her head, not fully grasping the implications.

"Mica," Fox found his voice again. "The Anti-Cornerian race claimed they were from that star same star we're going to."

Mica felt her tension ease, suddenly more certain of herself as the truth that would put the Cornerians' minds at ease became apparent. "Fox, Krystal, trust me. I've been to this world we're going to. I know the people who live there, and there is simply no way Humans could have been on Corneria five centuries ago. They don't even have space-travel capabilities yet. Regardless of what they claim, the empire that Cornerians fought in your last global war couldn't have been from Earth. I want to assure you that when you see this world, when you meet their people, your fears will go away." Even as Mica spoke, she saw Fox and Krystal exchange a 'just as I feared' look.

"So you say, Your Highness," Krystal said sadly. "But even the name 'Human' is the same as the Anti-Cornerian Race."

_What? _"How… how is _that_ possible?"

Before Fox could respond, a shudder ran through the ship. Mica, Fox and Krystal all three turned to look out the window for the source of the disturbance and found the stars no longer white streaks but glimmering points of light. The stargate through which they traveled closed behind them as they emerged from the slipstream. "Well," Fox said as he and Krystal stood up, "we've reached the Qay-Dan system. As soon as we triangulate the third planet's location, we'll go planetside."

A fluttering excitement stirred in the back of Mica's mind, but she betrayed no sign of it. "I'll tell Mike to try to make his way to C-Island," she said. Mike, can you hear me? Rather than a response, Mica felt a disorienting sensation like a near-freezing tidal wave rushing over her, causing her to stumble back and press her hands to her head. Krystal and Fox were immediately back at her side, arms underneath hers to support her.

"Princess, what is it?" Fox asked.

Mica shook the chills from her body and the disorientation from her mind. "I… I don't know. When I tried to mind speak with Mike… it's like I'm being blocked somehow."

"How?" Krystal queried, wondering what could block a telepath's mind.

Mica rose to her feet again. "The only thing I can guess is that an extremely powerful psionic is trying to repel me from Mike, or from Earth."

By this time, Mica's near-faint had attracted the attention of the other three Cornerians, who were now gathered around her. "Everything ok?" Peppy asked.

Mica nodded quickly. "I'll be fine. Let's just…" she felt her strength leaving again as the same chill swept over her, more malevolently this time. She heard, as if hearing from underwater, Fox call for a medical scanner, and then everything was dark.

* * *

"Is she alright?" Mica strained to make out the details of the distant voice.

"She should come around," replied a second voice, somehow familiar.

"Praise the sisters," the first voice replied.

"My question is how did this happen?" It was the second voice.

The first voice: "A psionic attack." A pause, "and I think you know there's only one psionic with this kind of power."

"Zoda." The second voice replied. As Mica's mind slowly gathered itself from what felt like the four corners of the universe, she recognized the voice. It was Hirocon. _Now if only I could focus my eyes on anything…_

"Merely a shadow of Zoda," the first, still unrecognized voice corrected. "He's on Earth. I've been trying to find out who, but it's proven… difficult."

Mica groaned, a sound wrenched forth by her vocal cords as an affirmation that they were now awake, and aware of the throbbing pain in the head to which they were attached. A moment later her eyes followed suit, finally focusing on the room around her. Her first sight was of two men standing over her as she lay on a makeshift medical bed. One was her father, as she'd noted. It took a moment to recognize the other because he appeared older than she remembered him, but when she finally did she nearly jumped up to hug him. "Merlin!"

"Easy, easy there," Merlin laughed, motioning for Mica to stay where she was. "Don't overexert yourself on my account." As his eyes glistened, he smiled back at her. "But it's good to see you too, princess. You gave us quite a fright there, young lady."

Mica nodded as her bearings slowly collected themselves. It took a moment for realization of what she'd heard while regaining consciousness to finally grasp her, and when she did she drew in her breath tightly. "Merlin, did you say there was a Zoda on Earth."

The smiles that had formed on Merlin and Hirocon's faces at Mica's recovery were gone in an instant. "I fear I did, princess."

Mica started to say something, but was interrupted by the whoosh of the door opening as Fox entered. "We've entered orbit of the third planet, and we're keeping in the shadow of their moon to avoid being detected. I've gotta tell you though, I don't know how you plan to get down there without being detected. As near as we can tell, they've got quite a radar network in place."

"Oh, I know a way," Merlin said mischievously.

Fox turned toward the wizard. "Wonderful. Now who the Hell are you?"

"Fox McCloud," Hirocon put the full flourish of his experience in the Argonian Royal Court into the introductions, "meet Merlin Ambrosius."

"Okay, okay, and how did you get here?" Fox asked.

"Magic," Merlin answered simply, and then nodded and extended his hand toward Fox. Fox however, seemed focused on Merlin's face, his own hardening with suspicion. "Your ears," he acted as though he had not heard Hirocon. "They don't have any points. You're a Human, aren't you."

"Only half-Human, thank you," Merlin replied indignantly, withdrawing his hand. "And I'm here with essential information."

Fox and Merlin stared each other down for a tense moment, a moment which Mica feared would end in a blaster and wand being drawn. Fortunately, however, Fox backed down, shaking his head. "This keeps getting better and better. Here we are in a cast-off rustbucket on loan from the Army, in orbit of Hell according to Krystal, where the techno-empire's dominant species came from, and where Hirocon over there has spent two weeks telling me the people are so backward that they developed nuclear arms before hyperdrive. What other race in the galaxy is that barbaric? And now, to make things extra-peachy, there's a half-Human standing on my ship uninvited. Any more good news?"

Merlin, Mica and Hirocon exchanged an uncomfortable look.

"There's more news, isn't there," Fox asked nauseously.

"One of Zoda's copies is down there," Mica blurted out.

Fox groaned and ran the palm of his hand down his face. "That's the essential information, isn't it?" He directed his question at Merlin.

"Actually," Merlin said calmly, "no."

One by one three heads turned toward the half-Human wizard. "Oh? There's something else?"

Merlin slowly nodded. "Yes, and it applies to you, Mr. McCloud, as much as to the Argonians and Mike."

Fox arched one eyebrow. "Really," he said disbelievingly. "Okay, what?

Merlin chuckled. "You and your team should accompany the Argonians down to the surface with me. I'll discuss it with you there. Suffice it to say for now," his eyes flicked between the three of them for a moment before he cryptically answered, "that you don't fully understand the magnitude of what's going on around you at the moment, or what it will soon mean."

"Oh, wow. Really?" Fox's tone was one of overdone awe. "Wow. Don't fully understand the magnitude, huh? Wow. Thanks, Mer. That was really, uh, really informative. Thanks. But in the meantime, reality is waiting outside. He wants to know when he can come back in. And speaking of reality, since you're the one who thinks we should just all drop in down there, do you have a plan for getting us all to the surface without screaming 'here we are, shoot us,' or are we just going to wing it?"

Merlin grumbled something under his breath about sarcastic youth before replying, "have everyone, including your team and the Argonian children, meet me in the lounge in thirty minutes. My magic will carry us to the surface."

_Evening of September 30, 1990_

_C-Island_

The walk from Dr. J's lab, at the tip of a long sand jetti sticking into the island's harbor from its northern shore, to Coralcola village in the southwest region of C-Island was a long one given the island's small size. Today, however, Mike didn't mind. Truthfully, there wasn't any specific reason why he needed to go to the village. What he needed was just to get out of the lab, away from the stifling bubble of academe. Normally he would have been able to keep himself at least occupied, if not enthralled, by the lab. Indeed, when he'd first come to the island the previous summer it had been for some experience helping his uncle with his archaeological studies (archaeology being a subject in which Mike found himself taking almost as much interest as he did in baseball and Star Trek). However, with the doctor's present research being of too great importance for him to be willing to slow down so Mike could follow, Mike found himself with conspicuously little to do. And so he clipped his walkman onto his belt, plugged in a tape he'd mixed of songs that reminded him of his summer adventure, put on his best sneakers, and set off for the village.

The pinkish-red rays of sunset were beginning to fade as the sun set below the mountains along the western shore of the island, and on the flat opposite horizon, the stars were coming to life one by one. Mike caught himself checking to see if the Southern Cross was out yet before recalling that it would, as its name suggested, be in the sky to the south, not the east. Despite his continued effort to remind himself that the significance of the Southern Cross was little more than a local superstition, and despite his mind being aware that the constellation would brighten the sky soon enough, just as it had every night for countless ages before, Mike found himself disappointed not to see those five familiar stars. After all, during his quest through the islands, it had been the sight of the Southern Cross that had somehow, inexplicably, given him the strength to go on. During his time travel, too, its constant presence through all of Earth's history seemed to remind him that, though he was separated by miles and years from everything he held dear, he was neither alone, nor forgotten. Now, with the shadow of Merlin's foretold 'Vanguard War' looming over him like the specter of Zoda, waiting to strike the moment he let down his guard, he was forced to admit to himself he'd come out tonight expecting to receive another dose of encouragement from the mysterious cluster of stars. _I guess it's kind of appropriate,_ he thought. _After all, Mica said the Southern Cross included Argonia's star._

_"When you see the Southern Cross for the first time,_" Mike's walkman played, and Mike chuckled at the timing. _"You understand now why you came this way."_ Unable to keep from laughing, Mike reached down toward the box clipped to his belt and turned the volume dial up, letting the song play out at top volume before pressing the stop button. By this time he was passing into the clearing that hid the village. Locals were likely to greet him, and he didn't want to appear rude. On a whim, he adjusted his direction slightly northwest, to the chief's hut, glancing reflexively at the bathhouse in the northeast corner as he crossed the village square, and as he did so he surpressed a shudder. The bathhouse was empty, but in its farthest corner, Mike knew, lay the entrance to the island's underworld. _Where the nightmare began,_ he thought darkly. _Jeez, like it wouldn't' have been creepy enough in the daytime, it's worse this close to nightfall._ However, no bone-chilling cries or blood-curdling shrieks emanated from the tunnels tonight. All was well, at least here on C-Island. _And still, there's this chill. It's at least eighty-five degrees out here, and I'm getting a chill…_

_…the same way I did when one of the Zodas was close by. _Dismissing the thought as paranoia, or at least trying to convince himself that was all it was, Mike tried to tear his eyes away from the bathhouse that masked the tunnel entrance. This task was made easier as Mike became aware of his name being called excitedly from the chief's hut by…

_…but it can't be!_ _Oompf! _Mike turned his head forward just in time to see his the person who called to him for a fleeting instant before she threw her arms around him with such zeal that both she and Mike tumbled to the ground. It took his eyes and ears repeating the message to his brain a few times before it clicked. It was none other than Mica Argo. Quickly, as if to convince himself that his senses didn't deceive him, he pushed her up just enough to see her face. "Mica?"

"Yeah, it's me." There was silence for a moment before Mike hugged her again, embracing her as tightly as she had, both of them laughing gleefully as they did so.

"But how did you," Mike stammered excitedly. "I mean it must have-"

"I wanted to tell you," Mica said at the same time, in a similarly hasty manner. "But I-"

The deep 'em-hem' of a man clearing his throat interrupted them both. As Mike and Mica both turned toward the source of the sound, they saw Hirocon. More to the point, they saw Hirocon's feet, and became awkwardly aware of their current position.

"Oops," Mica said softly, climbing off of Mike and gaining her feet again, red-faced and staring at her shoes. "Sorry about that."

"It's cool," Mike mumbled, climbing to his own feet. "I mean, not cool like I liked it or anything, just cool like, it's okay. I mean, I don't mean to say 'not like I liked it' like I disliked it, just that… I mean-"

"Mister Jones," Hirocon's higher, more fluent tone cut Mike's stammering short. "It's a pleasure to see you again." Hirocon approached Mike, smiling diplomatically, his tone not giving any indication that the previous embarrassing moment had taken place at all. He extended his hand toward Mike, which Mike took in a handshake.

"Um, good to see you again too, Hirocon… I mean, Your Majesty, or Your Regent…ness…ity, or whatever."

"Oh, just 'Hirocon' is fine," Hirocon assured him. "And your timing is excellent too. Perhaps you could come join us inside the chieftain's hut."

Mike arched an eyebrow. "Us? Who all is here besides you two?"

Mica and Hirocon exchanged a look, and then turned toward Mike. "All seven of the children, myself, Merlin, and a few new comrades," Hirocon answered. "You'll see. But please, step inside. We have a lot to talk about, and I don't wish to impose on the chief's hospitality any longer than we must."

"Sure," Mike said amicably." Lead the way."

With a brief nod of his head, Hirocon turned and walked back toward the chief's hut. Mica and Mike waited for a tiny moment, looking back at each other.

Mica was the first to crack a smile. "Well, we're back," she said, at a loss for what else to say.

"Yeah," Mike smiled back. "You are."

Mica took a few tentative steps toward him, smiling still, but looking away shyly. "Mike," she began as if saying something that had waited a long time to be said.

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember after you rescued us from the third Zoda, at the end of your time-travelling journey… do you remember what the first thing was that I said to you?"

"Mm-hmm," Mike nodded. "You said, you had 'many things to tell me,' but we needed to make sure the villagers were okay first."

Mica blushed. "Yes, that," she said breathlessly. "But, with Father's reappearance from the Tetrads, and our return to Argonia, I didn't have time to say most of them."

Mike said nothing, but stared back at her, the same 'I-barely-believe-this-is-real' smile on his face.

"Well, Mike, one of the things I wanted to tell you…"

"Mica, Mike," Hirocon called from the porch of the chief's hut. "They're waiting for us."

"Coming, father," Mica called back, and then looked back at Mike almost pleadingly.

"Come on," Mike motioned toward the hut. "You'll have plenty of time to tell me this time. Let's not keep them waiting."

Mica nodded quickly. "You're right. Let's go." And they both turned to go.

"Hey, Mica," Mike added just before they left.

"Yes?"

"I'm really glad you came back."

Mica giggled and smiled, a perfectly contented smile Mike wanted more than anything to hang onto. "So am I, Mike," she said.


	9. Chapter 9: The Sleeper Agent

Chapter Nine: The Sleeper Agent

_September 30, 1990 (Earth reckoning)_

_Argonian Orbit_

_Coming here was a mistake_, Andross thought as he sat in the command chair of the sleek, stealthy Venomian Heighliner that brought him, along with his small entourage and his 'guest' to Argonia. Zoda, pacing slowly around the tiny bridge, eyes fixed on the planet hovering outside the window, seemed to think differently. _Old fool. We came here to finish dealing with the Argonians that you missed. That much was clear to me from the beginning, that my presence here was because you couldn't be sure you could do the job yourself. But where is this princess, and where are these six… 'sages,' was it? They're not here. Nothing is here! And now, all we have to show for our effort is an Argonian hostage, the leader of a scruffy band of refugees. _"We waste time by lingering here, Zoda," he finally said. "The ruler's daughter isn't here, despite your ill-evidenced assurances to the contrary."

"I would hardly call this time 'wasted,' Andross," Zoda rebutted calmly.

_He's hiding something, surprise surprise. _"The ruler and his daughter are not here," he repeated. "We've little reason to think they were in the first place."

"She was here," Zoda said with that same maddening calm in his tone. "She and her father left with McCloud."

Andross rolled his eyes fiercely. "My spies were watching McCloud's borrowed vessel, and they've assured me he brought only the survivors from Grey's ship, after which they left the system again."

Zoda nodded, no longer pacing, but eyes still fixed on the planet before them. "Precisely," he turned one blazing red eye toward Andross and continued, "and McCloud has not been seen since."

Andross made a rumbling sound in his throat. "You suggest that the Argonians you came looking for fled somewhere with McCloud."

"They were here when I left aboard the dreadnought."

"Left," Andross smirked. "You say it as though you had some say, some choice in the matter. You were exiled, priest, for the second time. The dreadnought was merely the arbiter of your sentence. And now that you've returned-"

"Now that I've returned," Zoda interrupted, "they've fled from me, along with their sages… for the second time." Satisfied that he'd made his point, and noting Andross's consternation at his mimicry of the scientist's own words, Zoda turned his eyes back to the planet outside the window. "It's immaterial," he added, with a practiced dismissive wave of his hand. "I know exactly where they are: Earth."

"Qay-dan?" Andross's self-restraint finally failed him, and he released a deep, rumbling laugh, which he promply cut off a moment later. "What makes you think they could have persuaded McCloud to take them there?"

_He sees me as a fanatical fool, Zoda thought. Perhaps it's time to remind the 'good doctor' who taught him the arts of conspiracy and subterfuge. _"You aren't the only one with informants, doctor." _There. Let him chew on the implications of that for a bit. _

Another rumbling sound escaped Andross' throat. "You have eyes on Chaos Home, then?"

Zoda laughed darkly. "I have a shadow within their very midst."

Before Andross could inquire any further, a guard appeared at the door, a chameleon as evident by his pigmentation's identicality to the pattern of the bridge wall. "My Lord Andross, Pigma Dengar requests an audience.

Over Zoda's 'ah,' Andross announced, "send him in."

The guard bowed and exited, replaced at the door a moment later by a fat Cornerian whose features identified his subspecies very clearly as 'pig.' He wore the uniform of the Venomian Air Corps, with the unit flash of the elite Star Wolf team and the rank insignia of Prime Invader._ The standard honorary rank of those who do favors for Andross, it would seem,_ Zoda stifled a snicker as he thought. "Andross," Pigma drew the name out nasally, "Long time no see. I thought you were fox-chow, y'know. And Zoda too?" He let out a nostril-flaring snort. "Well, well. We got ourselves a reeeeeeal old-time family reunion here."

Andross hid his emotions well, but Zoda registered the tell-tale signs of shock in his surface thoughts at Pigma's greeting. Finally, Andross recovered his composure enough to say, "We thought you were dead as well, Pigma. The difference is in your case we were right."

Another snort from Pigma: "Yeah, and when do I get a shot at Peppy's little Fox-boy? I'm lookin' forward to linin' his wings up right next to his dad's for this."

"You'll have your chance," Andross assured Pigma, eyeing him uncertainly. "Tell me something, Dengar. What's the last thing you remember before returning to consciousness in the lab?"

"I remember hearin' wieeeeeeerd voices in my head," Pigma's snout wiggled furiously as he squealed. "They were tellin' me to 'obey the Hive,' or somethin' like that. Then I kinda dozed off in the cockpit, and the next thing I knew I was back there." He pointed over his shoulder. "So enough small talk. Where do I get me a ship from?"

"I'm sure we have one on board that will suit your needs for the time being," Andross rumbled. "At least until we return to Venom."

"Venom, schmenom," Pigma snorted. "I want a shot at McCloud Jr. "

"You'll have your chance," Andross assured him.

"Good," Pigma oinked. "Then I guess I'll help myself to one o' your ships like you just said. Later, pal." With a squealing, snorting laugh, Pigma turned and walked out the door.

Andross tapped his fingers contemplatively on the arm of his chair. "Zoda," he began. "I've seen psionic overwrite before. It leaves the subject with a copy of your psyche in place of their own, as I recall it."

Zoda nodded. "That's the usual case, yes."

"That," Andross pointed lazily toward the door, "was unmistakably Pigma Dengar."

Zoda nodded again, beginning to show subtle signs of concealed elation. "So it would seem."

"Even with his body biometrically restored, how is that possible?"

Zoda glanced at the two glowing marks on the back of his hand. "It must be the Triforce," he mused. "It enhances psionic strength. It must have allowed me to retrieve the elements of Pigma's persona that were engrained in his very cells." The concealed elation gradually became less concealed. "Andross, do you realize what this can mean?"

"It means you've raised an annoying pig from the dead. Congratulations."

Zoda laughed darkly and produced from within his cloak an old-fashioned arrow. The arrow appeared to be made entirely of silver, including the fletching, and the tip was covered in what looked like a bloodstain. "Andross," he said mystically, eyes fixed adoringly upon the bloodstained arrow. "I have only begun to raise the dead."

_Chief's hut; Coralcola Village, C-Island_

"Argonia?" Mike asked breathlessly. "You're asking me to go to Argonia?"

"You sound surprised," Merlin said. "I told you this would happen soon."

Mike nodded his head. "Yeah, you did. And if I didn't believe it I wouldn't have come here, but… I don't know. It still feels like such a big jump, just out of nowhere like this."

"Yes," Hirocon admitted. "I won't deny, we place a lot on you by asking this, Michael. But with so much at stake…"

Mike nodded, sparing Hirocon the apparent agony of finishing. "Sir," quickly settling on the vague honorative, he chose his next words carefully, "I'll go. But before that…" That three word phrase was injected into the conversation just in time to be heard over the relieved murmuring surrounding 'I'll go.' "Before that, I'd like to know a few things."

Merlin chuckled bemusedly, and Hirocon glanced at him before returning his attention to Mike. "And what things would you like to know?"

"Is it true that Zoda isn't working alone this time?"

"Okay, this is too weird," a gruff, unpolished voice from behind Mike spoke up. "How did he know that?"

Mike jumped at the sound, having failed to notice anyone other than the Argonians, the village chief and Merlin on his entry. The interruption came from one of five beings unlike anything Mike had yet seen who were gathered near the front wall of the hut, away from the door. _That explains how I didn't see them when I walked in. They were outside the old peripheral vision. But what the heck are they? They look like they're half animal and half Human. And they speak English too?_ Subconsciously, Mike tensed. In his experience with English-speaking aliens there were the Argonians, and then there was Zoda, and these five were clearly not Argonians. _Cool it, Mike,_ He corrected himself. _They're here without Hirocon or Mica saying anything, so they're friends of the Argonians… whatever they are._

"Calm down, calm down Fox," Mica urged, a soothing tone tempering her insistent voice. "Don't be so suspicious. You're among friends here."

"Friends, huh?" Fox replied. "Y'know, that's funny, because I seem to remember the old man saying something about one of Zoda's stooges being down here, and now he knows about Andross."

_A Zoda? Here? And who's Andross? _Mike started to respond, but was interrupted by a near approximation of a Spanish accent.

"Fox, remember. We aren't sure Andross is still alive. Cornerian intelligence suggests he's been dead since the incident on Sauria."

"He's alive, Krystal," Fox insisted. At her unconvinced look he furthered, "Oh, come on! Remember what Grey told us about Hirocon's story of Zoda transforming into a giant disembodied head with two hovering hands? A _head_, and two _hands_? Does that just kinda sorta sound familiar to you? And now this Zoda creep who just happens to have the same bag of tricks Andross does, and just happens to have been exiled from Argonia barely before Andross started rising to power just happens to have stolen a Cornerian Dreadnought and made his way to Lylat? And just when the Cornerian Army just so happens to be reeling from an unexplainable Aparoid invasion? Kind of convenient, don't you think? Remember the title they said Zoda used, _Prime Invader_? Why would an Argonian Priest use a Venomian rank as his title?"

Hirocon and Mica swapped a look of unabashed shock, the same thought passing between both of them: _Prime Invader is a Venomian Rank?_

"If you knew all this then why did you agree to come here?" Krystal demanded.

"Because I didn't know all this until we started swapping information with them on the trip here," Fox rebuffed. "But by that time I decided we had to meet this 'great hero' they wanted to come all the way across the galaxy for. If I'd known it was this kid," he pointed a disdainful finger at Mike, "I would've turned the ship around and-"

"This 'kid' is almost as old as you were when the Venomian War broke out," Krystal snapped back.

"And he's a descendant of Link," Merlin spoke up again.

"Yes, and he's a descendant of…" Krystal caught herself and gasped. "What… what did you say?"

"Who's Link?" Fox asked.

"Who's Andross?" Mike asked in riposte.

Fox cocked his head sideways. "But… you just said you knew Zoda wasn't working alone."

"Yeah, but I was talking about Dragmire."

Now it was Hirocon. "What do you know about Dragmire?"

"Enough!" A single voice cut through the chaos. It was Merlin, and he stepped forward into the center of the hut, commanding the attention of the assembly in a way only Merlin could. And as the assembly focussed their attention on Merlin, they found their gaze inexorably drawn to the focus of Merlin's attention: Mike. "Mike, you're right. Zoda is not working alone."

"Okay Merlin," Mike held up his hands. "No riddles. Just give me straight answers."

"You already have the answers," Merlin riddled.

"Dammit, Merlin-"

"No, really. You already have the answers." Seeing Mike's blank stare, Merlin decided to elaborate. "Put it together, Mike."

"But I don't know who this Andross clown is," Mike insisted.

"I'll get around to that," Merlin assured Mike. "Think about it. Zoda and someone named Andross are collaborating, and if Zoda has his way, then you're right. Dragmire will be added to his growing roster of allies. That's three evil… I mean," he chuckled and glanced around the room. "Can we agree that Zoda and Andross fit the description 'Champions of Evil?' Would that suit them?"

"I'd say so," Fox admitted.

"As would I," Mica agreed.

Merlin acknowledged the two of them with nods and went on. "Two Champions of Evil are coming together, and one is working to bring a third from the distant past. Mike, does this ring a bell?" Merlin could see the beginnings of understanding flickering in Mike's eyes, but it still seemed that a spark was needed. "Perhaps it's time we got around to addressing Andross. Fox, could you tell our young hero a bit about him?"

Fox bristled a bit at the request, but he complied. "Well, he was born on Corneria-"

"No, no," Merlin cut him off. "Focus on his appearance."

"What? What does that-"

"Kindly trust me on this one, Fox."

Fox made a sound that started as a growl and ended as a sigh. "He's a Simian," Fox began. "With-"

Mike snapped his fingers and pointed to Merlin as revelation came to him. "The ninth chapter! The ape-guy silhouetted next to Zoda!"

As Fox muttered something about wondering why he ever bothered trying to speak, Merlin held his arms out wide, a glowing grin on his face. "The ninth chapter," he echoed. The chapter wherein the 'Champions of evil' will war against the 'Vanguard of Heroes.'"

"But if this really is the war in the ninth chapter," Mike spoke slowly now, as a new and disturbing thought crept into his mind. "Well, Merlin, there were five people… creatures… beings in that picture."

Merlin's smile evaporated. "Let's focus on the here and now. Fox?"

Fox's ears perked up mockingly. "Hmm? Oh, do I get to talk now?"

"How soon will your ship be able to depart for Argonia?"

Fox made a moment's worth of mental calculations. "I'd give it a full day to recharge the Gate-drive. It was a hard flight."

As Merlin turned his gaze toward the chief, Hirocon spoke. "It's not my wish to impose upon your people, chief," he said. "We'll wait on board the ship."

"You'll do no such thing," the chief insisted, his robust Polynesian accent adding gusto to his words. "It was Link of Hyrule who taught my people to look to the Southern Cross for guidance. If his descendant and a few visitors from the Southern Cross, especially ones already known to my people, need refuge then they will find it here. In this, you have my word."

Hirocon waited a moment before agreeing, in order not to appear hasty. "You're most kind, chief."

"Kind indeed," the smiling Krystal intoned in a tone and timbre worthy of a queen. "However, our ship is perilously unmanned right now. I hope you'll not think us rude for declining your gracious hospitality, and asking that Merlin return us there."

A fleeting glance passed between Merlin and Hirocon, reflecting a moment of unconscious worry on each man's part that the Cornerians would leave before anyone could follow them. However, Krystal's bearing seemed to convince Merlin. Hirocon, for his part, could not help but notice the relief on the faces of the Cornerian Party when the chief half-bowed his agreement. _They have some reservations about spending the night on a planet full of Humans,_ Hirocon discerned. _We're going to have to work on learning to trust each other, or whatever Merlin has in mind will fail, and we'll likely pay with our lives._

"So be it," Merlin shrugged. With a wave of the old wizard's wand the Cornerians disappeared in the same flash of orange light and blast of wind that accompanied Merlin's teleportation spell. "They won't leave," he answered the question asked by Hirocon's glance. "The mention of Link was all Krystal needed."

"Yes, well, about that," Hirocon started to speak but was silenced by a gesture from Merlin.

"In time, old friend. For now, suffice it to say Krystal's people know of matters so old," he grinned as he went on. "So old that you just might deal with them in the coming months." Merlin watched as Hirocon mulled over the implications of his latest riddling comment before turning to Mike. Mike, however, appeared lost in thought, and judging by his eyes' unwavering focus on Mica, it seemed to Merlin that Mike's thoughts were of matters far more important to an adolescent boy than, say, the fate of the universe. Merlin shook his head almost imperceptibly. _There's probably a little bit more he should know, but it can wait. _"Well then, perhaps everyone should take some time to enjoy the island. After all," his next remark fell heavily on the shoulders of the space-sick Hirocon, "it's the last solid ground many of you will see for a few weeks."

"That having been said," Hirocon grumbled, "I think I'll do just that."

As Hirocon turned to walk out, the chief followed him. "A word with you, please, Regent," he called.

The six other children made their way outside, talking eagerly about seeing once more the families who took them in during the previous summer, leaving only Merlin, Mike and Mica. One glance between the two youths was all Merlin needed to realize that they would likely prefer him subtracted from that setting. With a knowing smile and a flourish of his wand, the wizard dismissed himself.

Mica glanced at Mike, caught him staring at her, and both their faces turned a glowing shade of pink. "So, um…" she began, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ears.

"I, uh, I guess we have a day to catch up," Mike said, trying valiantly to sound casual.

"Yes," Mica agreed. "Why don't-"

"Hey, do you-" Mike started at the same time. "Oh, sorry. You go first."

Mica shook her head. "No, it can wait."

"Okay," Mike nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You, uh, wanna check out Uncle Steve's place? I'll bet he'd love to know you guys are back."

Mica smiled. "That sounds wonderful, Mike!"

The token of approval seemed to boost Mike's confidence immensely. "Cool! Let's go!"

Mica held up her hand. "Let's take our time getting there," she suggested, a bit more sultrily than she'd intended. At Mike's look she quickly added. "I mean, it's a really pretty day, and I haven't seen the sun for two weeks. Besides, it'll give us time to talk."

"Oh, right. Cool then. Let's go." With that, Mike and Mica started for the edge of the village, and the long walk back to Dr. J's lab.

_Baboo's Hut; Coralcola Village_

The Dragmirian Priest Lord known as Zoda V exited the tiny hut and hurriedly made his way across the rocky heights of the island's interior. There was little need to sneak, clad as he was in Terran form. _My natural form,_ he thought with disgust, _from before High Priest Drekmyr, acting through the Priest Lord Zoda W, enlightened me_. There was little time now for such thinking though, urgent as it was to get his message to the High Priest. Rather, he decided to be grateful that his form was the only thing Terran that remained. The High Priest would not tolerate another failure, and he knew this.

Zoda V shuddered involuntarily, cursing himself for the show of weakness. Zoda W's original purpose for him, upon the abduction of the scientist, had been for him to keep watch over the islanders and ensure their irritating shamaness made no attempt to contact Merlin. It was a servant job, not even worthy of its doer earning Priestly garb. But he had accidentally made a more important role for himself in Dragmire's blessed cause. He himself had been the one to discern the Terran boy's ancestry in the first place and, unable to openly harm the boy for fear of inviting the shamaness's interest, schemed to bring him to a ghastly end. He was the one who gave the boy the access code to the meddling scientist's vessel, thinking the boy would die in the search. When that didn't work, he had given the boy just enough information to help him discover the tracking signal that would lead him to the escape pod crash site, and to Zoda W's ship.

_And that idiot couldn't even kill a Terran child. He couldn't even save his ship or the recovered cubes with the Sage's essence in them! _Zoda V fumed. After that, when the Argonians made their appearance on the island, he had been the one to call out to the High Priest and beseech him to send more Priest Lords to finish the job. _But for the interference of Link's son, it would have worked too! But now the boy's gift has awakened, Hirocon is restored, and I'll soon be unable to hide my true nature from the lot of them. The High Priest has to know that they're all back, and with help from the Old Alliance. After that…_ After that was for the High Priest to decide. Zoda V knew this. For now, his only concern was making his way to the altar to Dragmire he'd secreted away in the heights, from which his psionic power would be enough to reach Argonia.

_Crew Lounge; CSS Foxfire_

The Star Fox Team appeared in an increasingly familiar flash of orange light. It took a moment of looking around for the five to realize that they were back aboard the small cruiser, but once they did it only took a moment longer for Falco to find a couch. "Well, not to say that wasn't the most fun I've had since my last beak canal, but if you need me I'll be running an inspection on the inside of my eyelids."

"Sheesh, Falco," Slippy griped. "Do you ever wake up?"

"Only when he's at the stick, Slip," Peppy responded before moving on to the matter at hand. "Krystal, would you mind tellin' us what spooked you down there?"

"Yeah," Fox seconded a bit more gently. "That Human wizard guy said something about someone named 'Link,' and you froze. Who is that?"

"An Argonian hero," Krystal answered, still shaken. "In ages past, he came to the Lylat system, and spent a year in company with the gods. Before he left, the gods helped him hide a talisman of incredible power in the red star, Solar. But…" she shook her head. "That boy is Human. How can he be a descendant of Link? Unless…"

"Unless what?" Peppy asked irately.

Krystal was silent a moment before tentatively answering. "Fox, how good is the surveillance equipment on this ship?"

Fox looked taken aback by the change in subject. "I don't know, we haven't tested it. But I'd guess that a patrol ship would have pretty good sky eyes. Why?"

Krystal put a hand on Fox's shoulder to steady herself. "Fox, We need to take a look at this planet, a close look."

"How close?"

"We need to see the wildlife. See if the animals look like primitive forms of Cornerian subspecies."

"What? What does that have to do with-"

"Fox, please," Krystal raised her voice half an octave before calming down again. "You have to remember that my ancestors were trusted with certain secrets by the gods, and trust me." As an afterthought she added, "and also pray that I'm wrong."

There was a moment of silence as Fox and Krystal's eyes locked. Finally, Fox agreed. "Alright. Slippy, get to work on the spy hardware.

"On it, Fox," Slippy squeaked, unable to hide his excitement at putting his skills to use.

Fox, grinning, slapped Slippy companionably on the shoulder as the toad left the room. "I know you won't let us down, Slip." After Slippy was out the door, Fox turned back to Krystal. "So just what if we find what you're expecting us to find?"

Krystal's eyes darkened as she looked meaningfully around at the team members present. "Then get ready for a war against an enemy even the gods couldn't defeat," she answered coldly.

_C-Island, South Seas_

Mike and Mica walked slowly along the inside shore of the island, skirting the harbor. To the East, at the center of the harbor they could see Dr. J's lab, but the path there would still extend north for a while before turning east, then south again. They would have to get there soon too, because the sand jetti leading out to the lab would be underwater at neap tide. But Mike, for his part, was in no hurry, and he noticed Mica seemed to be in none herself. That observation pleased him, for reasons he kept hidden from the Argonian princess. He wanted to enjoy her company for as long as possible while they were alone. "So, Mica," he began, "like I said, I'm really glad you came back, but what made you decide to come?"

The smile that had brightened Mica's face since they left the chief's hut faded a small bit, and Mike mentally kicked himself for causing it. "We didn't really have a choice," she confessed. "When Zoda hijacked the Cornerian ship-"

"Zoda was there?" Mike interrupted, agog. "On Argonia?"

"Yes," Mica answered. "And he… but I should start at the beginning with the other Cornerians if you're going to hear that story."

"What other Cornerians?"

Mica glanced at Mike and managed a wry grin. "It's funny. I was about to start asking you about your dreams when you started in on me. Nice dodge, Mike."

Mike chuckled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to give you the third degree. It's just… wow, I guess we really do have a lot we need to tell each other."

"The question is where to begin," Mica added. As Mike nodded, Mica slowed her pace a bit, forcing Mike to slow down to keep from getting ahead of her as a new thought came to her. "Actually, there's a better way than talking."

Mike raised a curious eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Mica placed her hand on Mike's shoulder softly, and when she spoke there was a hint of mischief about her. "Mike, have you ever Read anyone?"

"Say what?"

"You're a psionic. Have you ever Read anyone?"

"Oh, you mean like checking their thoughts? Yeah, a few times. But-"

Mica shook her head. "No, no, Mike. I mean have you ever _Read _anyone," she repeated, emphasizing the word 'Read,' as if to imply a distinction between what she meant and what Mike meant. At Mike's confused look, she explained. "You can go a lot deeper than someone's surface thoughts, Mike. You can actually connect so closely with their mind that you feel their thoughts with them. You can see into their memories, their hidden thoughts, even their dreams. We call this Reading a person."

"Whoa," Mike replied, awestruck. "But isn't that kind of invading that person's privacy?"

Mica nodded. "It is, but it can't be done without the person actively allowing you into their mind." A momentary flash of regret crossed her face and she looked away. "Well, at least if they're a psionic themselves. If they're not…"

Mike understood. "That's what Zoda, I mean, the Zoda copy, did to me on the ship, isn't it?"

Mica nodded. "If the person reading you is hostile, then it's very intrusive. In fact, Reading by force is such a savage act that Argonians consider it no different than rape. In a way, that's almost what it is."

_Thanks, Mica. That's just the image I always wanted when I think of Zoda. _"So this 'Reading,' how do you do it?"

Stopping completely, Mica raised her eyes back toward Mike's. "Would you like me to show you?"

Mike stopped as well and turned, finding his face barely a foot from Mica's. _I could get used to that sight,_ Mike thought. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Mica smiled. "Okay," she began excitedly. "I'll start by reading you, and then I'll help you try it yourself. Ready?"

Mike nodded. "I think so."

"Okay then," Mica answered. She said nothing more, but locked eyes with Mike. In a moment, Mike felt what he guessed was the sensation of being Read by Mica. If receiving a telepathic message was 'hearing,' than this was 'touching.' Okay, Mike. Now relax your mind.

"Relax my mind?" What does that mean?

"Just open up to me. Think of it like this. Your mind is a home."

Mike tried to imagine that. "Okay…"

"Now, just open the door."

For a moment there was no change, and mike felt sure he was doing something wrong. But then, something was different. There was a presence within his head, just as there had been when Zoda probed his mind on the ship. Only this time, there was no chill, no terror, no illusionary image of an alien despot appearing before him. There was only warmth, an aura of warmth that he felt certain he would have recognized as Mica, even if she had not been standing there. It was, he decided, quite pleasant actually. Of course, then he felt memories returning to him, unbidden, and more quickly than they normally would. His dreams, the foreboding conversations with Merlin, everything related to the Oxford Wonder World's ominous prophecy came back to him, and he could tell that Mica was experiencing those same memories alongside him.

Mike wasn't sure how much time passed, but when he felt certain Mica knew everything he knew about the 'Vanguard War,' the memories subsided. "Okay," Mica spoke up, speaking audibly though he could still feel her within his mind. "See how it's done?"

Mike slowly nodded. "I think so," he said distantly. _Wow. This feels weird. It's not bad I guess, just… weird._

"Alright then," Mica smiled encouragingly at him. "It's your turn."

_One Hour Later_

_Dr. J's Lab; C-Island_

Dr. Jones looked out the window and bit his lip. _Where is he? He knows better than to wander around the island after dark. There are boars in the palm forests. _He forced himself to disregard the notion that anything could have befallen Mike. After all, a boar was not likely a threat for Mike: not after slaying four Zoda clones. _Besides, he's probably just out on the beach with one of the girls from the village 'teaching her American customs.' Still, with all of this 'Vanguard' garbage growing more convoluted every day, I wish he'd be more cautious. Oh well, teenagers will be teenagers._ With a small effort spent on burying his apprehension for his nephew, the doctor returned to his research desk, and his search.

That search, so far, had yielded nothing of any consequence. He'd poured over every scrap of information collected from the cipher, the Oxford Wonder World, and the volumes of linguistic textbooks he kept on hand, searching for any clues to 'the Language Question,' but at this point he had nothing to show for his trouble. _It's got to be the Triforce, _he reasoned_. There's nothing else Argonia and Earth really have in common. That relic must be guiding language developmen, somehow. But how? Why? From what Merlin said, the Triforce's main goal is to be reunited with its other parts. Could the language have something to do with that? _What irritated him the most was that the answer felt as though it would be something almost beneath his notice, something he could not help but know. And still, nothing occurred to him. The only new clues were two brief historical mentions of the 'language of the gods,' and 'language of the Sisters,' both on the walls of the escape pod's crash-chamber, and both newly translated, having not been looked at since the previous summer.

_But what IS the 'language of the gods? Surely they're not talking about English, are they? _The Doctor's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the lab's main door opening and closing. He looked up from his desk across the room at the high-arched door and saw Baboo standing there. "Oh, hi Baboo. Is-"

"Where is Mike?" Baboo cut in.

Dr. J did a double-take. This wasn't like the normally mild-mannered Baboo at all. "Well, he was in the village last I-"

"I know. Has he returned?"

Dr. J sat up straight. Something in Baboo's manner made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as few things did. "No," He replied, slowly and measuredly. "Mike hasn't returned."

Baboo's eyes narrowed. When he spoke again, it was with a slower, more assured tone. "Then you are by yourself here." It was a statement rather than a question, a distinction that was not lost on Dr. J. "Good." Dr. J started to speak but was distracted by a glance at Baboo's eyes, eyes which now glowed with a red hue.

It was a hue the doctor found all-too-familiar. Those were Zoda's eyes. "No!" He shouted defiantly, reaching under his desk for the pistol he kept there. He was not quick enough to avoid the blast of psionic energy unleashed by the Zoda clone (for he now knew Baboo to be one). He felt a surge of pain throughout his body and a throbbing in his head as he was flung over the back of his chair and into the wall behind him, missing a trip out the window into the harbor by barely more than a foot. The throbbing in his head was made worse by the impact against the wall, and was soon joined by a sharp pain in his chin as his he landed, face-down on the hardwood floor. He pulled himself up to his hands and knees, noticing a thick spot of blood on the floor and guessing the blow to his chin looked even worse than it felt, and glanced around. The indistinct focus of the room alerted him to the fact that his he'd lost his glasses in the blast. He tried to rise to his feet, but as he put one foot sole-down on the floor the air around him sizzled and another blast flung him into the air, spinning this time. There was a sickening _'Crack-Thud' _from another impact with the wall, and Dr. J was face-down on the lab floor again. He coughed, tasting blood as he did.

As his vision began to grow blurry, Dr. J lifted his head enough to look across the room. There was a moving blur that he guessed was Baboo, and a dark shape he guessed was his desk. The rest of the room was too hazy to make out any details, and Dr. J wondered momentarily if the haze was all from his missing glasses, or if he had a concussion from two consecutive blows to the head.

**_I'll ask this once, Terran,_** a voice that was undeniably Zoda echoed through the doctor's mind. **_Where is the weapon? The one forged from Eshca-Leboor's shards?_**

"I'll say this once, scum," Dr. J spat back. "Go to Hell. The one- _Augh_!" Dr. J squeezed the sides of his head with his hands as a new pain shot through it. In the moments of clarity between the now deafening sounds of his own pulse, he became dimly aware that he was no longer alone within his own head. It was a familiar feeling: the feeling of having his mind ravaged by Zoda.

"Tsk, tsk," Baboo muttered. "No bananas to jam into your ears like that damnable nephew of yours? What a pity." Dr. J screamed again, louder this time, as Zoda V sifted his mind like sand. But that's not a problem. You'll give me what I'm looking for.

_Not like this_, Dr. J found himself thinking as his consciousness began to fade. _After everything this summer, it can't end like this. _Another blast of psionic energy racked his battered body, and he blacked out.

_

* * *

_

Mike and Mica walked much of the rest of the way to Dr. J's lab in silence. Mica, as far as Mike could tell, seemed deep in thought. _Of course, she's got a lot to think about. She just got the whole weight of Merlin's doom-and-gloom dropped on her shoulders, and after everything she went through on Argonia, too._ The thought of Mica's time on Argonia after leaving Earth made him look away from her. Mind-speaking was still new enough to him, and Reading a person, as Mica had called it, was absolutely overwhelming to him, so he didn't feel like he'd seen through Mica's eyes quite as well as she'd seen through his. Even so, he'd glimpsed enough of her memories to understand she'd returned from exile to a world that didn't want her, to a now strife-hardened ex-fiancee who sent her back into exile, and she'd seen everything she held dear brought down by Zoda for the second time. _God, and here I thought I had it bad with dreams and getting Merlinized. But compared to that? _The image of Moraigne casting Mica and her companions back into exile intruded into Mike's mind again, and he found himself clenching his fists.

"It's alright, Mike," Mica said softly.

Mike turned his head toward her slightly. "Hmm?"

"You worry yourself with matters that are already passed." She could see Mike was about to ask what she meant, and she explained. "You don't have to concern yourself with anything that went on between me and Moraigne."

Mike's mouth formed silently around the word 'oh.' "You've been scanning my thoughts, then. Even when we stopped Reading."

"I shouldn't have," Mica chided herself. "I'm sorry, I should have had a little more respect for the privacy of thought than that, especially for someone who constantly criticizes others for the same thing."

Mike shook his head quickly. "It's not a problem." After that, they went back to walking in silence. They continued that way until they reached the framed-glass doors of Dr. J's lab. _They're open,_ Mike noted. _That's strange. Oh well. _"Uncle Steve," he called out as he and Mica pased through the doorway into the spacious Great-room. "I'm back, and we have company." There was no response. "Uncle Steve?" Still there was silence

"Mike," Mica gripped Mike's arm worriedly. "Something isn't right."

"Nah, it's nothing," Mike assured her. "He probably just turned in early. But-" he stopped short as his eyes fell on the crumpled form of Dr. J, sprawled out on the floor next to the far wall. "Uncle Steve!" He shouted, and ran to his uncle's side, with Mica close behind. Doctor J lay face-down, arms in front of him, and was bleeding from a nasty-looking gash in his chin. There was an equally unpleasant-looking purple bruise on the back of his head. Mike rolled him onto his back, and shook him. "Unc, you okay?" Doctor J didn't respond. "Oh, man, he's out cold. Mica, call for help."

Mica looked around the room nervously for a moment. "Yes," she agreed. "Help. Of course." Mike was remotely aware of a telepathic message sent by Mica, but since it was not directed at him, and he had more pressing concerns, he didn't respond.

_God, _Mike thought. _I really wish I'd paid attention in that First Aid class last summer. _Clutching Dr. J's shoulders, he shook him again. "Uncle Steve, talk to me!"

"Mike," the baritone voice of Baboo intoned from the door to the door leading down the hall. "Is everything okay?"

"Baboo," Mike sighed, relieved. "Dude, am I glad to see you. It's Dr. J. He's passed out or something, and he looks hurt."

Baboo slowly approached Mike. Too slowly, Mike would later realize. "Is he alive?" Baboo asked calmly, still approaching with a slow gait, incongruous with the rest of the situation.

"Well of course he's alive!" Mike screamed, turning to face Baboo angrily. "Now quit just standing there and…" Mike caught sight of Mica. Her eyes were fixed on Baboo, and there was no color at all left in her face. She cast a terrified glance at Mike and mouthed a single word, too terrified to speak: 'Zoda.'

In the moment it took Mike to fit the pieces together, Baboo let fly a blast Mike recognized as the psionic energy he called the 'Psychic Shockwave,' hitting Mike squarely in the chest with it. Mike spun through the air from the force of the blast, landing on his back on the floor six feet away with both arms and legs trailing him. He heard Mica's scream, followed by the sounds of feet running toward him. Quickly, acting on reflexes honed by his twin adventures, Mike rolled into a forward-leaning position and lunged to meet his attacker head-on. His left shoulder collided with Baboo's well-toned torso, and Baboo staggered backward a step, barely affected. Baboo recovered quickly, bringing a double-fisted blow down onto Mike's head with enough force to knock him to the floor. As Baboo took a step back to give himself room to deliver a kick, however, he was tossed aside by a 'Psychic Shockwave' blast from Mica.

"Back away from him, Drekmyr," she hissed, bloodily.

"Drekmyr, is it?" Baboo chuckled as Mike struggled to his feet and crouched into a fighter's stance. "Then you finally learned the truth about your destroyer."

"Shut up!" Mica shrieked, and unleashed another volley upon him. This time, however, Baboo held up his hand, palm forward, and the blast dissolved harmlessly into the skin of his hand. As Mica stared, dumbfounded, at this, she found herself lifted, against her will, into the air and hurled across the room through the open door and into the sand outside.

"That's called telekinesis, dear," Baboo, mocked. "Remember it."

Lacking the strength for a proper Shockwave, but enraged no less by the assault on Mica, Mike charged Baboo, screaming as he did so. Baboo didn't even glance in Mike's direction as he swung his massive forearm into Mike's throat, knocking him, coughing, to the ground.

"Pathetic," Baboo spat, looking down at Mike. "And you honestly thought you could stand against the might of Zoda V?"

"Zoda V?" Mike rasped between labored breaths, masking his fear with bravado. "X was in London, then Y was Transylvania, and Z was right here on the Island. I guess that makes the one on the ship W, doesn't it?" He coughed, attempting to pass it off as a derisive snort. "So now we're down to V, eh? Doesn't matter. I'll keep killing you alien scum-bags all the way back through the alphabet if I have to."

"Unlikely," Zoda V retorted.

Mike began to rise to his feet, only to receive Baboo's knee squarely in the center of his face. Mike spun around from the impact, and Zoda V took advantage of the opening by grabbing Mike's left shoulder with one hand and jabbing the Terran's kidney with the other.

The pain prompted a broken, rattling gasp from Mike, one in which blood from his nose and his now-knocked-loose teeth poured down his windpipe. Finally, the stress on his lungs, as well as the loss of blood, became too much for Mike. His eyes rolled backward into his head and, with a wrenching spasm of resistance, Mike's consciousness faded.

Zoda V looked proudly down upon his now-unconscious foe. _So this is the Terran who defeated four Priest Lords of Dragmire,_ he allowed himself to think. _Unbelievable. Still, a descendant of Link will make an excellent Priest Lord for Dragmire's service. _Relishing that thought, Zoda V plunged his senses into the mind of the unconscious Terran. Deeper he dove, until he came to the bitter mote that was Mike's psyche. With a feeling of supremacy that was intoxicating to any Priest Lord, Mike's persona began to chip away. A memory here, a habit there, soon, V thought eagerly, he would be nothing more than another Zoda.

Zoda V was so enraptured by his apparent success that he failed to notice the rush of wind that swept through the lab until a flash of orange light heralded the arrival of Merlin and Hirocon. A single psionic blast from Hirocon barreled into the Priest Lord, sending him reeling and causing him to drop Mike to the floor. "Ah, Regent," he greeted with syrupy sarcasm as he regained his footing. "And Merlin too? Why, this is indeed an honor."

Merlin raised his hand enough so that V had a clear view of the Triforce mark on the back of it. "A message for your master," he snarled. Before Zoda V could react, however, the Triforce mark flickered and the room was bathed in a radiant golden light. "There is one piece left, Dragmirian," Merlin delivered his message.

"Impossible!" Zoda V growled. "None but Dragmire have ever wielded the Triforce of Power!"

"I wield it now, Seed of Hellswine," Merlin responded. "And if you want it, you'll have to contend with the sons of Link." As if to emphasize his point, the light grew to a blinding intensity.

"You can't win," Zoda V shrieked, shielding his eyes and cringing from the barrage of raw, Triforce-fed power. "You can kill me, the other Priest Lords, even the High Priest if you want, but Dragmire is eternal!"

"The only thing eternal in this universe is death," Merlin cried, adding fuel to the radiant assault. "Sample it!" There was a moment in which the Triforce mark illuminated the room so fully that even Hirocon had to shield his eyes. As the light grew to such a state Hirocon felt certain his own eyes would burn, no matter how tightly he squeezed them shut, Zoda V's body disintegrated, leaving only an agonized scream that seemed to linger there for several more minutes before subsiding.

The light grew dimmer until it finally faded altogether, and Merlin gasping in exhaustion from the toll the unchecked power of the Triforce had taken on him, staggered to Dr. J's desk and leaned on it for support. Hirocon looked from Dr. J to Mike, taking a quick assessment of their injuries before he noticed Mica's absence. "Mica," he cried out. "Mica, where are you?"

"Right here," Mica wheezed, staggering through the door of the lab. The front of her body was covered with sand, and she appeared to nurse a broken shoulder, but seemed otherwise unhurt.

"Mica! Oh, thank the Sisters you're okay," Hirocon ran toward his daughter and started to embrace her, but before he could she ran to where Mike lay and knelt beside him.

"Mike," she screamed, clutching his shoulders. "Mike, wake up."

From across the room, Dr. J groaned and stirred, and Hirocon made his way to him. "What happened?" Dr. J asked groggily as Hirocon helped him to his feet. Once he was on his feet again, Dr. J shook his head to clear it. "My glasses," he asked, still dazed. "Where are my glasses." Hirocon held out his hand and the glasses came from across the room to rest in his palm. He handed them to the doctor.

"Thanks, thanks," Dr. J said as he pulled the glasses onto his face and turned to look at the man who handed them to him. His mouth fell open as he recognized him. "Hirocon?"

"The explanation will have to wait," Hirocon said quickly. "Are you okay?"

The doctor lifted his hand to his chin and cringed a bit as he touched the wound. "Well, I'm alive, but," his eyes widened as his surroundings came back into focus and his eyes fell on his unconscious nephew. "Mike," he yelled and crossed the room to him in a few steps. "What happened to him?"

Mica shook her head, not taking her eyes off of him. "I don't know. We were fighting that Zoda clone, and we got separated, and when I got back you two were here, and Mike was… like this," she choked on the words 'like this,' and a tear rolled off of her face, landing on the floor beside Mike's left hand. "He's barely breathing, his pulse is weak, and…" she looked up, sobbing, at the two men. "And I don't know what to do."

As Dr. J, at a loss for what to do, bolted down the hall to the library to collect the first aid kit there, Merlin recovered his strength and came to take his place at Mike's side. "The damage done to his body isn't what worries me," Merlin explained. "That Dragmirian was in the middle of an attack on Mike's mind. He was trying to remake him as a copy of Zoda."

Mica's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp, and Hirocon looked away. "If that's so," he said gloomily, "then we may be too late."

"Don'tsay that!" Mica shouted furiously, rising to her feet and pointing a murderous finger at Hirocon. "Don't even think that, damn you! You gave up on defending Argonia! You gave up on helping our people escape! I won't let you give up on Mike! Do you understand me? We are _NOT_ too late!" Not waiting for a response from Hirocon, she knelt back beside Mike and reached out her thoughts toward him. _He's alive,_ she assured herself. _He's alive, and I won't lose him. Not to Zoda, or anyone. There has to be a part of him that's still Mike. _With that assurance, she began to Read him, entering the unconscious warrior's mind unhindered. _I'll find, the part that's still you, Mike. I'll find you, and I'll bring you back. I promise it._


	10. Chapter 10: Their Own Stars

Chapter Ten: Their Own Stars

_"And in related news_," The newscaster droned in a practiced monotone, _"Officials from the International Space Agency issued a statement assuring us that the out-system launch of the _H.M.S. Sahasrala_ will proceed as previously planned. Final preparations for the ship's eight-year journey are underway._" The man paused for a breath, then began again_. "Our top story tonight comes from Naboorucos, where, long-time Gerudo men's suffrage crusader Gregorov Drekmyr today announced his intention to run for Prime Minister of the reconstruction government, contingent obviously on the Gerudo Confederation's continued independence. There is still no word from negotiators as to whether the treaty will allow the Confederation to maintain its sovereignty or be forced to join the so-called 'Nation of Argonia.' "_

While most of the crowd gathered on the broken sidewalk in front of the storefront remained silent and attentive to the newscaster droning on, a seventeen year old boy dressed in the simple canvas tunic, trousers, and loose-fitting jacket of a working class Hylian merely shook his head, pulled his jacket a little more tightly about himself, turned, and walked away sighing. True, most of the news was good news. The Space Agency continued their mission of exploration and expansion of knowledge. Men laboring under the matriarchal yoke of Gerudo society finally had a voice other than Dragmire. Everywhere, people stood up proudly to say that in the wake of the World Wide War, they would rebuild. They would drive on. They would continue the bettering of their world, just as they had before.

_There's only one problem with that. You don't have to look very far to see it's _never _going to be the way it was before. _The man looked remorsefully around 'Argo City,' the hastily erected refugee camp where the resistance, led by King Argo, had set up their de facto capitol. Due to the efforts of what remained of the Ministry of Engineering, most of the residential and governmental buildings were duraplastic temp-buildings instead of tents. This gave the place the illusion of permanence, and for that, he was thankful. Still, there was no mistaking an armed camp for a modern city, and the only modern cities left were in the Gerudo Confederation. Rebuilding would take decades, possibly centuries. _With all this celebration, I wonder if people even realize the dark age that probably lies ahead. _

_…And speaking of what lies ahead… _He glanced ruefully up the slopes of the coastal cliffs that served as the camp's northern border and stopped for a moment. "What am I doing?" He muttered to himself as he gazed at the extinct magma tube where his destination lay. "All going there will do is make it that much more painful when…" He found himself unable to speak the conclusion of that statement. "Why do I keep doing this to myself when I should just do it while I still have enough resolve?"

_Go, _something in the deep reaches of his mind prodded him, _and leave the resolve to me._ The last was emphasized by a warmth settling over his left hand.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that," he snapped, withdrawing his hands from the pockets of his jacket and looking down at the three gold, glowing triangular marks on the back of the hand surrounded in warmth. It was that same set of marks that identified him as the Trueforce Bearer, the hero with the power to govern all. Shoving the hand angrily back into his jacket pocket, he turned again toward his destination and began to walk, more quickly this time. "I never asked for this. I never asked to be a demigod," Link Ambrosius, last of the Knights of Hylia, said to no one in particular as he walked the presently deserted pathway leading to the slopes of the wall, and the cave.

_You didn't have to,_ the Triforce answered. _I chose you._

"Well what if I don't want to choose this?"

_Your will is as free as Dragmire's was._

"Saying which, you make the decision for me," Link huffed, resigning himself again to what he had already known he had to do. The Triforce, mercifully, said nothing, and Link made the rest of his way to the cave entrance in peace. At the mouth of the cave stood an intricately carved granite plaque (starkly contrasting the hasty construction of the rest of the city, Link noted) with the inscription 'Temple of Time.' Closing his eyes tightly as if to squeeze out the stab of regret he felt, Link entered. The Ministry of Engineering had already begun carving the inside of the cavern into square-cut walls and smooth floors, and rows of marble support columns were already in place in the entrance. _It used to be one of the most revered shrines in all the civilized world, and now we've got its replacement housed in a cave,_ he thought with disgust_. They can dress up that cave all they want, but you can't escape the symbolism of it. Dragmire set us back to living in caves._

The original Temple of Time, which had, in recent generations, primarily served as a monument to the memories of past incarnations of the Triforce bearers, had been constructed in the Hylian capitol city of Pan-Hyliocos. When Pan-Hyliocos was destroyed by Dragmire's barbaric nuclear assault, the Ministry of State's first action, before even mounting relief or reconstruction efforts, had been to recover what could be salvaged of the temple for preservation at a new site. _By the Sisters, King Argo wasn't happy to hear about that little misplacement of priorities either, _Link recalled. _I hope people will follow his lead in the days to come. He's the only leader with a chance of restoring any kind of civilization out of this mess. _

Link passed through a low-ceilinged section into another chamber, and the atmosphere changed sharply. While the previous chamber had been lit primarily by the sun filtering in through the open archway that served as an entrance, this section was lit by rows of incandescent orbs along the walls. Link found the effect rather gloomy. _Of course, I could say that for the fact that we even keep this old shrine preserved, if you can call this 'preserving' anything._

"Commoner's clothes don't become you, Milord," a soft, feminine voice said from behind Link, and Link stopped, not turning around.

"Yes they do, Your Highness," Link replied calmly. "It's that 'Milord' garbage coming from a princess that doesn't become me." He turned around to see the flowing blonde hair and sapphire eyes of Princess Zelda, daughter of King Argo of Hylia. She wore the ceremonial white gown and pink cotta of a Hylian Princess, but her silver tiara, token of her place as heiress to the throne, was notably absent.

"You are the Trueforce bearer," Zelda offered as justification for the comment, "the one with the power to govern all."

"But not the will to do so," Link retorted. "Everyone seems to have missed that part, Zelda. Everything I did was to rid the world of a dictator with delusions of godhood, and the first thing they do to celebrate that success is to try and make me their dictator and declare me a god."

Zelda approached Link softly. "We've waited eons for the Trueforce bearer to appear, Link," she reminded him. "You remember the legends. The Sisters created the Triforce to provide Hyrule with a light to follow, someone pure of heart and-"

"Your Highness," Link interrupted her. "I don't claim to know what the Sisters had in mind when they created this thing," he waved his left hand as if to flick something unpleasant away, "but whatever it was, I don't think it's worth the trouble it's caused over the centuries."

"It doesn't have to be a thing of terror anymore, Link," Zelda spoke in that same voice Link found maddeningly calm. "The people need a light to follow. They need… well, they need a messiah, and as far as they're concerned," she came close enough to take Link by the hand, placing both her hands on his left, and on the Triforce mark there. "They've found one."

Link snatched his hand away from her, noticing for a moment the crestfallen look on her face as he did so. "They need a _person_ to follow, Zelda, not a relic. The only reason the people are crying out for me to lead them is because of this!" He held up the Triforce mark again. "It's a thing, Zelda, and it's that thing that they revere. If they would look behind the relic and see the man bearing it they'd see-"

"They'd see the leader they need," Zelda pleaded.

"What about your father?" Link countered. "I'd say he's more the leader they need than I am, and they seem to think so too. _Argo_ City, remember? And what's the name they've suggested for the new state the resistance is trying to build? _Argo_nia."

Zelda sighed. "My father's a great man, Link, and a great king. But he doesn't command the respect that you do. The fact is most people only have the respect they have for him because you speak highly of him."

Link turned away from her, adamant in the face of her unswerving argument. "I won't do it, Zelda. I can't. I'm not going to allow Hyrule to draw its whole identity from the rule of one man."

"But that's exactly what you're doing, Link," Zelda corrected accusingly. "You just want my father to bear the burden of being that one man so you won't have to deal with it."

Link made no reply, and Zelda didn't force one. Instead, she walked to where Link stood and stood beside him, gazing across the still-under-construction temple.

"Zelda," Link changed the topic. "Why did you come here, anyway?"

"For the same reason you did, I would guess," Zelda answered, going along with the change of subject. "Now that Dragmire is dead, _completely_ dead, it seemed right to pay respects to those who've lived and died fighting him."

Link smirked. "But this temple really only honors two of the millions who fall into that category: you, and me."

"I never thought of it that way," Zelda chuckled, "but I guess you're right, and we've got the extra memories to prove it, don't we?"

Link nodded his agreement. "Twelve lifetimes worth of memories, and not one that wasn't overshadowed by Dragmire."

Zelda's smile darkened at the mention of Dragmire, then changed to one of thoughtful consideration. "Do you think this will be our last time, Link?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we'll be reincarnated again?"

Link thought for a short moment before shaking his head once. "Our purpose is fulfilled. I think this will be our last time."

For a long time, Zelda said nothing. When she finally spoke, it was with a tone of one asking a question to which they already knew the answer. "Do you think they ever loved each other?"

_Unlimited courage, and in twelve lifetimes I've been afraid to tell her. Well, now is no time for subtleties._ Link turned to face Zelda, took her by the shoulders and gently turned her toward him. "Zelda," he lifted her chin until her eyes were locked with his. "I've lived this life and eleven others, and I've been madly in love with you in every one of them."

Trembling, Zelda reached her hand up to touch Link's, and slowly moved it up to the side of her face as she leaned into him, resting her other hand against his chest. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited to hear that confession from you?"

_Unlimited power, and I can't do anything to ease the pain I'm about to cause her. _"Zelda," he urged, pushing her away. "It can't be this way. I'm sorry, it just can't."

"Why not? You just said this is going to be our last life, Link. We're not going to get another to spend together." she stepped back toward Link, taking his hands in hers. "We've crossed all these centuries living for the rest of the world, we've earned these few years to live for ourselves."

_Unlimited wisdom, and I can't deny the truth to her words. _"We have," Link agreed. "But it can't be." He pulled himself away from her again. "Zelda, don't you see? It's this." He held up the Triforce mark again. "It's too dangerous. It can't be allowed to remain together."

"Then separate it, for the Sisters sake!" Zelda begged. "Why should that-"

"No, you don't understand, Zelda."

"Then make me understand, Link!"

Link sighed. "Even though it's too powerful to leave together, once I separate it I'm paving the way for Dragmire to return, again. So I have to hide the pieces somewhere farther out than they've been before. Some place where they'll be beyond the reach of his followers."

"Where?"

Link looked away. "I'm leaving tomorrow on the _Sahasrala_," he said quickly. _There. I've said it. _"I'll leave the Triforce of Wisdom here with you, where it belongs. The other two, I'll take with me to find resting places for them." Link expected Zelda to cry out in shock, or to beg him to stay, or to swear furiously at him and storm out of the temple. However, a minute ticked by without a sound from her. Puzzled, he turned back toward her to find her eyes fixed on him, a cold, spurned rage emanating from them.

"You must have liquid nitrogen running through your veins, Link," she said crisply. "You keep me waiting for three thousand years without admitting that you love me, and when you finally do, you tell me in the next breath that I'm never going to see you again?" Though she didn't raise her voice, the sting in her words was as a javelin through Link's heart.

"Zelda, I'm sorry. I-"

"You're sorry?" Zelda cried, finally unable to withhold the anger from her voice. "You're sorry? Link, eleven Zeldas before me were given away in arranged marriages, and not one of them wanted anyone but you, and now this? 'Sorry' doesn't even come close!"

"Well what would you have me do?" Link shouted back. "You know what I've said is true. The thing has to be split up, and it can't be left on Hyrule."

"I know."

"And you know the only chance for me to leave Hyrule is on the _Sahasrala_."

"I know that too," Zelda was forced to admit icily.

"Then what do you want from me?" Once Link calmed down, he looked once again into Zelda's face. The anger had subsided as she realized he had no choice about leaving, but there was something new there. It was a longing, a need for something no other man could give her. It only took one look into those eyes to know _exactly_ what she wanted from him. "Zelda," he said hesitantly, "no. I-'

"One night, Link." Her voice was insistent, desperate. "Before I give my last lifetime in an arranged marriage to someone else, I want this for one night. I think you owe me that much." Her lower lip trembled, hesitating before she spoke again hungrily. "_Please_, Link."

_I owe you more than I can give you, Zelda,_ Link admitted to himself. _But I can give you this. _They had one night, and the princess and her hero poured three thousand years of unspent passions into that one night. The following morning he would take his trip across the stars, and they would part forever. But that, for now, could wait. The two one-time lovers had this night...

...and nothing would take that from them, ever.

_October 4, 1990_

_Dr. Jones' Lab; C-Island._

Dr. Jones entered the shoddily cleared-out spare room that had become Mike's hospital room, thermos in hand. The Cornerians, hearing about the incident, had offered their ship's medical facility, but Merlin had been adamant that trying to teleport Mike in this condition could not be allowed. Mica was there, sitting on the cot beside Mike, keeping silent vigil as she had been since Merlin first healed her shoulder immediately after the attack. Judging by the intensity with which she stared at Mike this time, he guessed she was… _What do they call that? Reading him? Some kind of telepathic link I guess._ "Lunch is ready," he said softly, not to disturb her concentration.

"I'm fine," Mica said flatly.

Dr. J. hesitated for a moment, then sat down in a chair across the bed from Mica. "Mica, you've been sitting there on that bed for the last four days. You can't have slept more than six hours total, you haven't been resting that arm like you should be, and you haven't eaten anything but a few sandwiches brought by some of the villagers. You need to eat, and you need to rest."

"I can't leave," Mica insisted, still not taking her eyes off of Mike.

Doctor J. could see there was no point in arguing, at least for the moment, so he turned his attention to his nephew. "How is he?" He asked, afraid of the answer.

"He's dreaming," Mica answered. "I don't think he realizes yet he's being attacked."

Doctor J sighed. "Another Link and Dragmire dream?"

Mica nodded.

"Well that's just what he needs right now, isn't it?" Dr J. muttered. "Another dream about fighting Zoda's god who won't stay dead."

As if in response Mike groaned, and another spasm wrenched its way through his body.

Mica cringed slightly. "He's trying to wake up," she said worriedly.

"Well that's wonderful, isn't it?" Dr. J replied.

"He's trying to wake up," Mica repeated, "but Mike is still fighting him."

Dr. J closed his eyes. "Oh. _He's_ trying to wake up," he said darkly, failing to keep the worry out of his voice.

Mica drew a sharp breath through gritted teeth, cringing again. "He's come out of the dream-state," she said, more to herself than to Dr. J. "He's aware of Zoda now, but I think Zoda's figithing harder than before."

Dr. J stood up instantly. "I'll go get your father."

"No!"

"Mica, you said yourself he was stronger in this… kind of… thing."

"Doctor Jones, please," Mica urged him. "It has to be me who does this."

"Why?"

"Mike and I… were close," Mica allowed herself the briefest few microseconds to wonder just how close before continuing. "I'm counting on that closeness to keep him… well, to keep him Mike."

Doctor J. seemed undecided. _I know she thinks she's doing what's best, but do I trust Hirocon's experience, or the impulsiveness of youth? After all, it's easy to know everything when you're sixteen. _The intensity of Mica's stare grew. With a sigh, he ventured to speak. "Look Mica, I'll let you give this one try. But at the first sign that anything is going wrong, I'm going to get your father. I'm not going to put Mike in any greater risk. Understand?"

Mica nodded, barely aware of Dr. J or anything else in the world around her now as she went further and further into Mike's consciousness. **_Mike?_** She called out to him. **_Mike, please… answer me!_** As she said this, she felt herself being swept up in the same crushing wave that engulfed her on the _Foxfire_ when she tried to contact Mike.

**_Get out!_** Zoda screeched into her mind as she began to lose track of her connection with Mike. **_This one is mine. Get out!_**

_I don't think so, scum,_ Mica resolved, glancing down at Mike's body to make sure the psionic confrontation wasn't taking a physical toll on him. Without a moment lost, she thrust her own awareness into Mike's mind. She soon found herself lost, adrift in the chaotic waste left in the wake of Zoda's reforging. Everywhere around her she could sense fragments of memory. Some were Mike's memories. She recognized images, feelings, fears associated with the previous summer, and fragments from before she'd known him. Others were Zoda's dreams, the dark and insidious dreams of a fanatical cultist seeking nothing more than to see his stygian deity squeeze the life out of the universe that spawned him. But the fragments, both Mike's and Zoda's, were just fragments. Somewhere, she knew, deep inside this demonic waste, was the spark of self-awareness that was Mike Jones.

**_You're out of your mind, you alien scum!_** She heard Mike cry out in resistance from somewhere deeper. In response, she felt the midnight-black presence of the destroyer of Argonia tighten its hold further around Mike's awareness. She was distantly aware of a clash of raw willpower, a battle of the sheer desire to exist.

**_Mike, please!_** She emptied as much of herself into the simple cry as she dared, fearing she would lose herself to the void of Zoda's ever-present consciousness if she emptied herself any more._** Come back to me!**_

The only response was another violent surge of Zoda-presence, washing away still more of the Mike she knew, a cyclone assailing the fragile flicker of fading candle light that was still Mike. Panic gripped her as she groped around in the void for anything that remained of the Hero of Argonia and found none. _It can't end like this,_ she swore. _By the Sisters, it WON'T end like this._ With that assertion, Mica forced her way deeper into the maddening depths of Mike's besieged mind, extending the aura of her presence out into its every corner with a new insistence. For her effort, she received a response form Mike.

And in her physical self, she felt her heart stop at that response.

It was a simple response. A simple statement, very little more than a declaration of the most basic and primal of emotions, directed at her. But Mica knew in an instant that this one, simple response was backed by everything Mike was, or ever would be.

Mica prepared herself for one final surge against the encroaching Zoda, more determined now than ever that she would not, for any reason, lose Mike. **_You don't have him yet, you sorry Dragmirian son-of-a-bitch,_** she screamed her challenge at Zoda. **_You don't have him yet, and you never will._**

* * *

The scene faded, giving way to a moment of semi-awareness and the realization that this had been another dream-memory of Link. With it came another realization. _A child? They conceived a child that night, and Zelda named him Hyru-Kahn. Hirocon and Mica are descendants of Link too._

_Trust me, Mike_, Merlin's voice echoed through his dream-memory. _Introducing the two of you has been one of my goals for a long time: one of many. It's important to me, and it would have been important to my father._

**_Mike?_** Mica called to him telepathically, her voice sounding almost laughably out of place. **_Mike, please… answer me!_** She pressed on urgently.

Mike started to respond, but found himself immersed in a sense of falling, of tumbling into a bottomless depth. The dream-memory of Link was gone, replaced now only by an inky blackness that stretched into eternity around him. _Wait a minute, this isn't like the other dreams. I'm not awake yet, am I?** Mica, where are you?**_

**_Get out!_** Another voice, darker, screamed into the blackness around him. **_This one is mine. Get out!_** Mike recognized the voice in an instant. Zoda's voice…

_Zoda!_ A flash of real-memory flooded over Mike, washing away the dream-memory. The lab, the battle with Baboo, who revealed himself to be Zoda V, they all came into sharp, deadly focus. _What happened? What's happening now? _He felt the blackness pressing in on all sides, suffocating him, consuming him. It was a familiar sensation, and in spite of his terror, Mike allowed himself a moment to ponder where he'd known it before. The answer came to him as if handed to him from outside his own consciousness. _On the ship, when Zoda Read me. Only it's worse this time, like…_ Another answer came to him without searching, and with it, a dark amusement at his reaction. Mike dismissed the feeling and forced his now barely-coherent dispersing thoughts to focus on the answer. _He's rewriting me, _Mike realized, _the same thing the Argo City refugees told Mica about… the same thing he must have done to Baboo._

A sickly laugh surrounded Mike, permeating his very being as it did so. **_You're mine, Terran,_** Zoda roared. **_Or, perhaps it would be closer to the truth to say 'you're me.'_**

**_You're out of your mind, you alien scum!_**

**_Possibly, Mike. Possibly. But I'm not out of yours._** The darkness pressed harder, continuing to engulf Mike until his brain became unresponsive, and each muddled thought came through sheer force of will.

**_Mike, please! Come back to me!_** This voice was a female voice, a voice somehow familiar, someone important to him. He felt like he should know who it was… like he had known who it was only moments before.

_But who's Mike? Is that me? God… it's getting tough to remember. _He was losing himself, he knew. Even now, each assertion of self-thought taxed him beyond measure. Bits of memory were disappearing, being devoured by the darkness. It was like a vortex, drawing him hungrily into its gaping maw. He lashed out in every direction with his psionic senses as jumbled dreams and experiences shuffled themselves like cards and flung themselves down the whirlpool that was Zoda's presence, seeking anything he could hold onto.

It came as almost a shock to him when he found it. There was a memory, a powerful one. A memory in which he stood in an island chieftain's hut, celebrating a triumphant return. Standing before him were seven children, children whose names flapped in the still untouched corners of his psyche. The one at the front of the group was a girl, a girl who introduced herself as Princess Mica. Here, he knew, was one part of him that was still him, a part that would remain as long as any facet of his being remained intact. **_Mica,_** he gave that knowledge a voice. **_I love you. _That _much I remember._**

He clung to this memory, immersing himself in it as the blackness finally engulfed him. _If this is the only memory I have left,_ he assured himself,_ at least it's a good one._ The memory quickly began to fade, and he prepared himself to fade away with it. Soon, he realized, the darkness would claim even this last island of self. _Kind of funny I guess. It started on an island in the sea, and it'll end on an island in my mind._ Laughing inwardly at the irony, Mike waited for the end to come.

But it didn't come.

Instead, Mike felt the aura of Zoda begin to ripple and shimmer, like the surface of a lake when a heavy stone is thrown in it, and a glimmer of something that wasn't Zoda shined through it. And with it, a shout of defiance. **_You don't have him yet, and you never will._**

Furiously, the emptiness writhed and raged, seeking to stamp out the tiny light that disturbed it so it could complete its gruesome task. But the light wouldn't go away. It grew in intensity, pressing closer and closer to Mike, calling to him. He knew that light, knew it well. It was Mica. _Mica!_ He reached across the frigid presence around him to touch that light. Somehow, his shattered sense told him, if he could just connect with Mica, everything would be alright.

Zoda shrieked in rage, a chilling cry that reverberated through the void around them, as Mike touched the light and felt Mica's familiar presence. **_Hold onto this, Mike_**, she urged. **_This is who you are. Don't be afraid of Zoda. You've beaten him before, even without your psionic gift._**

**_But I don't remember_**, Mike protested.

Mica's light grew warmer in response. **_I do_**. Flashes of memory flooded back to Mike, partly his own. They were Read-memories, images from Mike's own past as Mica had seen them when their minds first connected, and with each memory, the darkness began to diminish, roaring with an inhuman fire as it did.

For a moment, Mike felt Zoda reassert himself again and feared he would be lost in this final, terrifying throw. But his connection to Mica held. Still, Mike felt himself losing focus. _**Mica,**_ he pleaded.

**_Don't worry,_** she responded. **_I won't lose you. Just hold on._**

Even as his awareness dimmed, like the closing of a set of inward eyes, Mike could sense Zoda's energies diminishing, leaving scattered remnants of dreams and images in their wake, disarrayed and disheveled, but still unmistakably his own. The effect was staggering to him, finally allowing him to see what was done to him. _I'm still there,_ he thought, _but I'm like a psychic jigsaw puzzle, and none of the pieces are together._ As he felt the cluttered remains of his mind reshuffled around him, he began to feel the last of his consciousness fade, but it was not the violent fading of being consumed by Zoda. It was subtle, calm, almost relaxing, like slipping into a deep sleep from an anesthetic. Compared to the experience of having his brain swallowed from the inside out, Mike found it pleasant, and finding it so, allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness.

Havoc's Cry; _Argonian Orbit, altitude 218 miles_

"Raising one pig from the dead just wasn't enough for you, was it Zoda?" Andross' question fell flat upon Zoda's ears as the scientist entered the High Priest's chosen meditation area aboard the ship.

"Doctor," Zoda said with mocking cheer. "What thrills it gives me to see you as well."

Andross wrote the comment off with a 'harrumph,' and continued his tirade, proceeding further into the meditation chamber as he did so. "I speak of that blood sample you gave me off of that arrow," he cut to the heart of the matter. "It's growing in my lab as we speak, and the projected growth data tells me-"

"Yes, Doctor," Zoda interrupted calmly. "Lord Dragmire was disfigured by prolonged exposure to the Triforce of power. That so-called 'pig' is indeed my Blessed Ancestor. It's a shame your science wasn't so advanced twenty years ago. You could have helped save me the time and trouble of trying to track down the Sages' descendants to revive Him."

Andross snorted his opinion. "And explain to me again why I'm indulging this little religious crusade of yours. How do I gain? What does your god have to do with me?"

Zoda rapped his clawed fingers meticulously on the arm of the chair in which he sat. "Andross," he began. "Do you remember when we first crossed paths?"

"Yes, I do," Andross answered. "You were a wandering exile, hungry for revenge but lacking the means to take it. You entered into my service and I changed that."

"Rather a hasty summation, I'd say," was Zoda's reply to Andross' retelling of the tale. "Because, as I recall it, you also hungered for unobtainable revenge. And lest we forget you learned as much from me as I did from you."

Andross's eyes narrowed. "Yes, but need we question who serves who here? As far as I am concerned, you're still an officer in my armada. Or have you forgotten, _Prime Invader_?" Andross placed emphasis on the title, as if to remind Zoda that by using his Venomian rank he admitted that the source of his authority was Andross.

Zoda laughed at that. "Let's not kid ourselves, old friend. We both serve ourselves. And when last we met, I served myself best by serving you, because you were the one farther along in your path to power. To increase my own might I had to increase yours. Now, however, it is you who are an exile at large, and it is I who provided the vessel we use. Therefore, just as I had to go along with your schemes then, you, my old friend, must go along with mine for now." To Andross' infuriated look, Zoda responded with, "relax, Doctor. Just as I repaid you for the secrets you taught me then, I will repay you for your services this time as well. Once my Ancestor is restored and I rule Argonia at his right hand, I give you my word I will see that you are made lord of the Lylat system." He turned to face Andross. "Does that placate you, Doctor?"

Andross drew himself up to his full height, arms crossed, before answering haughtily, "for the moment."

Zoda nodded. "Outstanding. Now, if you would please- _Aiee!_" He bolted up from his chair, hands pressed against the sides of his head as if in pain for a moment.

Andross lowered his arms to his sides and took a step into the room. "What is it this time?" he demanded.

The pain passed, and Zoda lowered his hands from his head slowly, his red eyes wide as he spoke. "It's the boy," he gasped. "The Terran. He's… but how?"

_The Terran? Then once more, things have not gone according to plan, surprise of all surprises. _"The boy what?" Andross demanded.

"He's driven me out," Zoda bit down on the words as he spoke them. "I had that Priest Lord rewrite him. Our link was open, and I saw him do it. I SAW it!" He brought his fist down onto the arm of the chair beside him with such force that the arm fell to the floor. "It's not possible. He couldn't have resisted."

Andross ran a hand through his graying mane of hair, sighing in disgust. "Enough," he snarled. "I've had my fill of your failed plans, hiding and sneaking when we should annihilate these pests outright while they're in one place. Hereafter, priest, it can be safely said that we serve ourselves best by doing things my way!"

Zoda's shock gave way to wry amusement. "Oh really?" The two stared at each other defiantly for several seconds. "And just what is 'your way,' Doctor? Since you seem to know so much more about how to beat McCloud now that he has allies than you knew back when his team worked alone, then enlighten me."

Andross ignored the insult. "There are two of us, soon to be three if this pig-headed ancestor of yours is all you claim, and they only know of you." Zoda glowered at the insulting pun, but allowed Andross to continue. "We have a class of vessel that has never been bested in open combat. We have a legion of my followers ready to come from Papetoon at but a word from me, while McCloud's team acts alone and the Argonians are unable to call for support from their ruined homeworld. Finally, their greatest hope rests in a child who allegedly measures himself against your so-called 'shadows,' who (as you claim) lack your power, to say nothing of the power of that relic in your hand. We have the superior position, Zoda, and every minute we plot is another minute they have to find a weakness in our position. If you wanted to opt for stealth, the best weapon would have been the agent who alerted us to their presence on Qay-Dan. Unfortunately, you deftly relieved us of that asset trying in vain to make a 'shadow' out of the Terran. So, we have to try a new strategy. This is the time to lure them to Argonia and wipe them out. Damn your subterfuge."

"And how do you plan to lure them to Argonia? After all, the Argonians won't return here if they know I-"

"If they did not intend to return to Argonia," Andross spoke over Zoda impatiently, "then they would not have made the trip all the way to Qay-Dan to retrieve this Terran child who they thought could kill you. Further, now that the Terran child has apparently survived your ill-concieved strike, their confidence will be boosted. Their resolve will strengthen, as they become more convinced of their inevitable victory. They will come on their own. All that is left for us to do is determine the exact place of the battle, and we can bring this idiotic episode to a long-overdue conclusion."

Zoda stared at the ape scientist for a long moment before sighing his concession. "Very well, very well. We'll do things your way."

"Finally," Andross rumbled as he turned and left.

Zoda waited until the door closed behind Andross and chuckled to himself. _Yes, we'll do things your way, old friend. It matters little at this point whether they come to me or I have to come to them. And never mind the boy. His continued existence is a minor inconvenience at worst, now that Dragmire is so close to his resurrection. Besides, Zoda V served his purpose before his death._ He glanced down at the two Triforce marks on the back of his right hand. _Because now, I know exactly where the final piece is. _

_October 5, 1990_

_Dr. Jones' Lab; C-Island_

The first thing Mike became aware of was the irritating call of a morning seagull. As the distant, grating sound grew more and more prevalent, it drew him rudely back to consciousness. Mike awoke to find himself laid out on a cot in the spare room of Dr. J's lab, with Mica kneeling beside him, asleep. Her arms were curled up in front of her, leaning across Mike's legs to form a pillow. Mike could not escape the feeling that his head had been through a cheese grater, and the gurgling of his indignant stomach told him he had not eaten for days. His thoughts swam, and he clutched the sides of his head for a moment to catch them. _I'm on C Island,_ he recalled, slowly gaining his bearings. _There was some kind of fight… yeah, a fight with Baboo, but he wasn't Baboo. He was a Zoda clone. Man, I must've taken a beating. Thing is, I don't remember it. In fact, the last thing I remember… jeez, what IS the last thing I remember. Everything's kind of out of order. _He flexed his arms and legs testingly, making sure they still worked, and received a stinging wave of pain for his efforts from all four of his bruised and battered limbs.

His stirring must have awakened Mica, because she lifted her head slightly and turned to face Mike, stretching and yawning. _I could really get used to waking up next to her, _Mike thought with a grin. When she finished her yawn, she lifted herself up onto her knees and shifted to a sitting position, legs bent with her arms wrapped around her knees. It was only then that she finally looked at Mike's face, and Mike could tell from her ecstatic gasp of surprise when she noticed that his eyes were open. "I'm hungry," he said sleepily, looking at her. "Is that a banana cream pie?"

Mica looked back at him, puzzled for a moment, before she remembered. _Those were my first words to him, back when we first emerged from the cubes. It was supposed to lighten the mood. _Snickering, she shook her head, wiping tears away from her eyes. Finally, she threw herself over Mike, wrapping him up in a tight embrace. "You dummy," she said through her sobs of joy as Mike hugged her back. Finally, she pulled herself away from Mike, smiling at hm. "So how do you feel?"

Mike groaned in response, rubbing the sides of his face sleepily. "Like I threw the best fastball of my life and then realized it was my brain I threw instead of a ball, and it got knocked out of the park and into a parking lot that was being steamrolled." He froze, then asked, "how long was I out?"

"Five days." Mica lowered her eyes. "A few of the others were worried you wouldn't recover."

Mike leaned his head back on the pillow. "Five days," he repeated. "I thought you were all going back after one."

"We couldn't very well leave without you," Mica reminded him. "You're the reason we came to Earth."

"Oh. Right."

"So," Mica proceeded, sitting up beside Mike, "how much do you remember?"

Mike hesitated, straining to reassemble his memory from incomplete pieces. "There was a dream… one of those dreams through Link's eyes. Zelda was in it, and they… anyway,"

_And they what? Was he about to say what it sounded like he was about to say? _Mica made a mental note to ask later, but allowed Mike to finish.

"After that, there was just… Zoda." Mike shuddered. "He was everywhere. It was like… Mica, I think he was trying to do that thing to me like you said. You know, where he makes someone into another Zoda. I think I was about to be Zoda U." That brought to mind the last Zoda clone he'd encountered. "How's Baboo?"

Mica shook her head. "From what we can tell, he was taken over by Zoda the night your uncle was kidnapped. He's been Zoda V as long as you've known him. And from the power he wielded…"

"He had to have done it willingly," Mike finished the thought.

Mica placed her hand gently on Mike's shoulder, deciding a more pleasant subject was in order. "Do you remember anything else?" She asked.

An undertone in her voice told Mike she had something very speciffic she expected him to remember. _Just wish I knew what._ "Nah, not really."

Mica looked at him disbelievingly. "Nothing?"

Mike shook his head apologetically. "Nope."

"Then… then you don't remember what you said?"

_Said? I said something…? Oh, she means like telepathically or something. Oh, God, I must've said something that made her mad, or… something. I'd better do some damage control here._ "Mica, whatever I might've said during all that… well, you have to understand I was part Zoda. I mean, you can't put much stock in anything I said." Mica's expression changed, but not into the look of understanding Mike expected. "But, whatever it was," he pressed on, "I'm really sorry I said it."

"I should go get the others," Mica said quickly, jumping to her feet. "They'll all want to know that you're back among the living."

"Yeah," Mike agreed. "Good idea, because they'll want to know some other things too."

Mica looked curiously at Mike, so Mike explained further. "I saw a lot of Zoda's memories, pretty recent ones too, and we've got a problem. A huge problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Just get everyone together. Trust me, this one's big."

Mica nodded, turned, and left quickly. _Too quickly,_ Mike thought with a sigh. _What did I say?

* * *

_

With help from Merlin, Mica had the Cornerians and (despite Hirocon's insistence that the children had been through far too much already) Argonians assembled in the greatroom of Dr. J's lab within the hour. Mike, now on his feet again, was received with the expected cries of 'thank the Sisters you're back,' from the Argonians. Fox greeted him with a back-slapping 'you gave us quite a scare there, kid,' and the Cornerian team echoed that sentiment. The most emotional display, however, came when Dr. J arrived.

"Where is he?" The group heard Dr. J's voice before they saw him. "Where's my nephew?" The twelve aliens and Mike turned their heads toward the entrance just in time to see Dr. J appear at the glass door to the lab, his face frozen in a mix of shock and joy. "Mike?" he choked. "Oh, thank God!" That said, the doctor nearly tore the door off of its hinges as he darted into the room and grabbed Mike in a rib-crushing hug for a moment before clutching him by the shoulders and looking at him from arm's length. "Dammit, Mike, don't you ever do that to me again! Ever! D'you hear me?" He did his best to make his voice sound stern and angry, but rarely-shed tears sneaking out from beneath the lenses of his bifocals told a different story.

Mike smiled awkwardly as he fumbled for a proper response, caught off-guard by the rare display of emotion from his uncle. Before he could say anything though, Saera stood up from where the other Argonians sat, ran toward Mike and hugged him as well, her arms coming barely to Mike's waist as she did, prompting a few 'aww's from some of the assembly. Even Dr. J smirked at the sight.

"He's right, you know," Saera half-whispered, looking up at Mike's face and using the most serious voice a six-year-old could manage. "We were scared for you."

Mike's awkward grin widened to a full smile as he patted the girl on the head. "I know you were. But I'm back now." He playfully tousled her hair before addressing both Saera and Dr. J. "Anyway, why don't you two grab a seat. I've got some news you're gonna want to hear."

Dr. J nodded and squeezed Mike's shoulders one final time as if to assure himself that it was indeed Mike before taking his seat at his workdesk, which had been respectfully reserved for him. Saera obediently trotted off to join the other Argonians, taking her seat right beside Mica, who put a protective arm around her shoulders. Mike took a look around the room, making sure everyone was accounted for, and cleared his throat. "Okay. Well, uh, first things first I guess, right? Right. Okay, so, during the last couple of days, while I was mind-linked with Zoda, I got a rare look inside his head, and… well for starters, I know how the whole Zoda-Andross connection you were all trying figure out works." That earned a double-take from each of the Cornerians. "Yeah," Mike went on. "To put it simply, neither one of them would've ever been much to worry about without the other's help. Their connection started about twenty-five years ago, when Zoda was first exiled from Argonia. After he left Argonia, the nearest system was Lylat, so he made his way there. When he got there, his psionic senses told him there was another psionic in the system. Since he knew that shouldn't have been possible, he looked for him, and found Andross."

"But how can a Cornerian be a psionic?" Hirocon interrupted.

"Like Fox said, he was a bio-engineer," Mike explained further. "By this time he'd been in exile on Venom for nine years."

Peppy's ears twitched. "That'd put it about four years after General Pepper sent James and me to check it out," he whispered aside to Fox, deliberately neglecting to mention Pigma Dengar's presence on that mission.

Mike went on. "Well, in nine years time he'd done some freakish experiments on himself, and he'd altered his brain-chemistry enough to make him a psionic, not to mention a shape-shifter. That, by the way, is the part Zoda took an interest in. Remember," he looked toward the Argonians. "Dragmire was transformed into a kind of pig-creature, a 'reflection of his soul' and all that. Since Zoda wanted to be like Dragmire in every way he could, the power to change shape caught his eye. So he went to Andross with an offer of a deal. Zoda taught Andross how to use his psionic abilities, and Andross gene-spliced Zoda to let him shape-shift."

Hirocon nodded. "That would explain what happened when I tried to fight him."

Mike pointed at Hirocon. "Uh huh. That was a trick he picked up by watching Andross in action. His favorite changeling game was to transform into a giant freakosaurus beastosaur thing, just like Dragmire transformed into a pig-beast-monster thing. But the real shocker here," he drew a breath before he went on. "The real shocker was when Andross created a bio-weapon called 'Vulcan.'"

"I remember that one," Fox sighed. "Damn thing lived inside Solar. I don't know what Andross was thinking when he made that one."

"Zoda didn't either," Mike agreed. "But it paid off, at least for Zoda. See, it was at Solar's core where the Triforce of Courage was hidden."

"The Triforce of Courage," Hirocon shouted. "That explains it! That's why he was so much more tenacious in battle when he returned to Argonia. But… oh, Holy Sisters…"

"Right," Mike stepped in. "That's the second bombshell in this bogus little tale. Bescause with the Triforce of Wisdom that he took from you, that makes two out of three pieces."

"This is a catastrophe," Rauren said, shaking his head in shock. "That monster is a breath away from having the Trueforce." The other Argonians began to murmur their agreement.

Mike looked at his feet apologetically. "Brace yourself," his voice barely carried over the hum of the arguing Argonians, "but it gets worse." As the Argonians settled down, their attention held out of terrified curiosity, Mike went on. "When Zoda hijacked that Cornerian ship a few weeks ago, he was picked up by Andross again on his way back to Lylat. Yes," he said to the disbelieving looks of the Cornerian team. "He's still alive. Part of the psionic bag of tricks he learned from Zoda. He raised clone bodies of himself, and when he dies, he sort of mind-transfers to one of those clone bodies."

"So he's figured out cloning, then," Fox slammed his fist onto the arm of the sofa. "Dammit, I had a feeling. I just didn't know how."

"And Andross isn't the only one who's back from the dead," Mike continued, at this point not bothering to apologize for the bad news, opting instead to just get it all out in the open. "He's found a DNA sample of someone named Pigma Dengar, and he's regrown his body, with Zoda's help rebuilding his mind."

Fox froze. _Pigma's alive? The traitor that shot dad down is alive?_ A sidelong glance at Peppy revealed that the old hare took the news with no less revulsion. The team seemed to notice the twin reactions of their leader and their mentor, as they shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

"What's the matter?" Fox heard Peppy mutter. "Was Hell overbooked?"

Oblivious to the side conversation, Mike went on. "And for the real Grand Slam of the whole business, Dengar's not the only pig those two are rebuilding from DNA samples." Mike waited in silence for one of the Argonians to uncover the meaning underneath that statement. It was Dr. J, however, who did it first.

"Dragmire," Dr. J. said flatly. "They're reviving Dragmire, and Zoda's found a way to do it without the Sages' descendants."

Mike closed his eyes and nodded deeply.

"Okay, this settles it," Slippy declared, rising to his feet. As Slippy spoke, Mike took his seat and the attention of the group shifted to the Cornerian Toad. "We killed Andross, but he's alive. We killed Pigma, but he's alive. Bill was sure Cornerian Command killed Zoda, but he's alive too. In fact, we're not even sure how many of him are alive! And now Mike here tells us Zoda's demon-ancestor is about to be back from the dead too. Is that basically the situation here?" He looked around the room. "I mean, is anyone else, maybe, intepreting the information differently?" No one responded. "Okay then. Our next move is an easy one. We make a call to General Pepper, tell him the situation, get a Deep Space Battalion to back us up, and fly to Argonia to rock and roll."

"Frog-boy speaks," Falco muttered in a mocking tone of imitated respect.

"But as usual, he doesn't think," Peppy finished the thought. "Slip, Bill's ship was on a classified mission. Their distress signal was in code. If the Army had a Deep Space Battalion to spare they would've sent them, instead of getting a mercenary unit involved. But the Army's too busy picking up the pieces after the 'Roids, so they sent us. That's the first thing, alright? The second thing is even if they had that kind of manpower to spare, and even if they believe this story, they're not likely to deploy that kind of a force all the way to Argonia just to get the attention of Andross and Company. Like it or not, Slippy. It's us," he made a horizontal circling motion with his index finger, pointing around the room, "against them." he emphasized the last with an off-hand wave toward the sky."

Slippy took his seat, looking quite deflated. "Okay. Then what DO we do?"

"We do exactly as you suggested, Slippy," Krystal broke the contemplative silence she'd maintained throughout the discussion, "Cornerian help or no."

One by one, the Star Fox Team turned their eyes skeptically toward Krystal. "That's funny," Fox commented, "because you're usually the one recommending we take it easy and be careful."

"True," Krystal conceded. "But there are special circumstances this time." Though her comments were directed toward the Cornerians, her eyes turned toward Merlin. "The pictures, for example. Do you remember the pictures?"

Merlin silently mouthed 'aha,' and Falco snorted. "You mean the ones we got using state-of-the-art spy cameras for a wildlife safari?" He made no effort to keep the disdain out of his voice. "Yeah. So the animals on this rock are more primitive-"

"And you," Krystal cut Falco off, nodding in Merlin's direction. "You introduced yourself as 'Merlin.' Did you not?"

"Wait a minute," Dr. J spoke for the Terrans and Argonians present. "I missed something here. How'd we get from Andross and Zoda to Earth animals?"

"I know what you're thinking," Merlin answered Krystal's line of questioning with a raised hand, "but you've got it partly wrong. I'm not _that _Merlin."

"What other Merlin is there?" Krystal countered.

_What in DiMaggio's name are they talking about?_ Mike wondered.

"My father spent a year among the Ancient Ones," Merlin said by way of an explanation to Krystal. "I was named after the man, or well, being of whom you speak."

"Hello?" Mike, raised his hand tenuously. "Would you two like to stop and pick up the rest of us?"

Krystal looked unconvinced. "And this planet, seeded in its infancy with earlier forms of Cornerian life… is it not the one the gods told my people about?"

"The Ancient Ones were far from gods, my dear girl," Merlin chuckled. "But yes, this is the world they meant."

"Then this 'Vanguard' is the gathering foretold? The ones who drawn to fight-" She silenced herself at a cautioning gesture from Merlin.

"That's quite enough for now," Merlin said firmly.

"They have a right to know," Krystal insisted. "If I'm to ask my friends, indeed if we're to ask all those gathered here to plunge headlong into something like-"

"They do have a right to know," Merlin cut her off once more. "But there are other things they must learn first." A look of understanding passed between Merlin and Krystal, and then it was gone. "If the enemy were revealed to them now," Merlin reinforced his point, "he would be more than they could comprehend. I can assure you that the forces arrayed against you already will prove daunting enough to demand your full attention until he appears."

A deathly silence fell over the room. "Meanwhile," Mike broke the silence. "Back at the ranch..."

"Did ya ever get the feelin' that some one was keeping secrets?" Peppy asked ornerily, not seeming to hear Mike as he glared at Krystal.

"Secrets?" Daru grunted, matching Peppy's glare with his own, also directed at Krystal. "Never."

"Let me make sure I understand this," Hirocon laughed drily, preventing the group from bombarding Krystal with questions by changing the subject. "We were forced out of Argonia without Zoda or Andross having to fire a shot at us. Now, we're going to charge back to Argonia to face both of them, and possibly Dragmire, with no reinforcements, and in light of the thinly-veiled implication that something worse is lurking in the shadows. It's madness!"

Mica withdrew her arm from around Saera's shoulder and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands as she spoke. "Father," she said crisply. "Let me remind you that our whole reason for coming back to Earth was because we _knew_ it would come to a fight with Zoda and we needed to enlist Mike's aid."

"Yes," Hirocon admitted wearily. "But this information changes things. Zoda isn't working alone anymore."

"Well, we're still going," Fox's 'we' was clarified by a motion toward the rest of his team. "So, do you want us to just leave you guys here, or what?"

"I think it would be best," was Hirocon's response.

"Father!" Mica shrieked.

Hirocon continued unabated. "We'll stay here, and make a life for ourselves on C-Island. We wish you, as the last surviving system of the Alliance, the best."

A round of protests from the Argonians followed. "That's what we wanted when the escape pod first landed," Rauren ventured first, "but you changed things."

"It was your decision, your excellency, to go back," Rute seconded Rauren in the calm-measured voice of a philosopher. "Remember? 'together we can go back to Argonia and rebuild our society.'"

"Actually," Hirocon noted, "those were Mica's words. Not mine."

"It was still your idea, ek-sence-see," Saera pointed out, her six-year-old tongue stumbling over the arcane title of 'excellency'. "You wanted us to go home. But now you just want to stay here."

"So all we accomplished in that little side-trip back to Argonia was a little glimpse at just what's to become of our homeworld now that we're gone," Impek joined in the protest gruffly. "And what a wonderful last look to remember Mother Argonia by."

"You're all far too young to understand what you're suggesting," Hirocon argued.

"We're only suggesting what you suggested first, Sire," Daru pressed on.

"We have to face him, Excellency," Naberra pleaded. "Now that we know he has two Triforce pieces he's sure to come to Earth for the third, so this won't be much of a hiding place."

"Better a distant threat than an immediate one," Hirocon's elevated voice told the Argonians that the discussion was over. "I've made my decision."

For a while, nothing was said. Finally, Fox spoke. "Well then, I guess this is good bye. Merlin, if you'll take us back to the _Foxfire_, we'll get ready to leave."

Merlin huffed, clearly displeased with Hirocon's decision. "This is NOT the way it was foretold," he muttered, "but so be it." With a dissatisfied grunt he rose to his feet and drew his wand.

"Wait," Mike stopped him. "I'm going too. I've already said that."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at Mike. "Oh?"

Mike looked once around the room. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm going."

Merlin turned to face Mike, a slight smile forming on his lips, whether in response to Mike's decision or to the general reaction, Mike couldn't tell. "And why is that?"

Mike considered his response for a moment. "Well for one thing, to stop Zoda from coming back to Earth with Dragmire backing him. For another," he snickered at the absurdity of what he was about to say. "Well, you know how it is. 'To boldly go where no man has gone before' and stuff. Besides, I dropped out of school for this. I want to make sure it was worth it."

Merlin beamed. "Now that's more like it."

"Kid, think about this for a sec," Peppy warned. "I mean, don't get me wrong. We like you and all, but this is life and death stuff. This is for real. You might not be coming back from this."

"Yeah?" Mike answered. "Well, it was real this summer too."

"Michael, hold on a moment." It was Hirocon this time. "Why are you doing this? You're risking life and limb for a world that's not even yours."

"Actually," Mike responded measuredly, "it _is_ my world. Descendant of Link, remember?"

"Well, if you're going to go off and get yourself killed," Dr. J took a few steps in Mike's direction, "then I'm going with you." At a questioning look from Mike, Dr. J explained. "I told Dennis I'd look after you, and I'm every bit as much Link's descendant as you are. Besides," he shrugged. "It sounds like Argonia will need some historians if it's going to rebuild. That's assuming we don't all get blown to Hell and back, of course."

"There's some positive thinking for you," Mike joked.

Mica stood up. "I'm going too," she announced. "If five Cornerians and two Terrans can fight for Argonia, then the princess of Argonia should be right there with them." Though she spoke of the Cornerians, Hirocon noted that her gaze was fixed solidly on Mike. Hirocon also noted, with no small amount of disgust, that Merlin was watching the entire proceeding approvingly.

"Well then, I will go as well." This came from Impek, the most rotund of the Argonian children. "My Shiekah ancestor pledged her life to the protection of the princess of Hyrule, and I intend to do the same. As the princess goes, so go I."

"Me too!" Saera stood up quickly, crossing her small arms and attempting to look stern-faced. One by one, each of the Argonian children followed suit, making their agreement known by rising and standing beside Mica. A look around at the faces of her companions made it clear to Mica that they, like her, had had their fill of running, a hundred times over.

"I don't know about this," Fox said worriedly, surveying the Argonians. "They're just children."

"I don't say this very often," Falco remarked, "but Fox is right."

"Thank you," Hirocon sighed, leaning back in his seat. "At least somebody sees my point."

"They're psionics," Krystal reminded her teammates. "The least of them is a stronger telepath than I."

"But they're so young," Fox insisted, his eyes lingering even more doubtfully on Saera than any of the others. "I mean, there'll be fighting… and explosions… and-"

"Fox," Krystal interrupted, wearing the smile that a woman wears when she knows she is about to make an undeniable point in an argument with a man. "One word: Tricky."

"He was a triceratops for the gods' sakes!" Fox screamed in desperate defense of his position. "That's gotta count as extenuating circumstances, Krystal."

"Their youth didn't stay Zoda's hand," Merlin brought the conversation back to the issue of the children's right to follow and face Zoda.

"Nor will it stay ours," growled Daru.

"I'm almost the same age the first Link was when Dragmire got the Triforce," Saera explained, doing her best to sound grown-up.

"Yes," Hirocon grasped at the opportunity to strengthen his failing argument. "And the Sage of Time knew Link was too young and sealed him away for ten years."

"Yes," Rauren said smoothly. "But the Sage of Time's title was hereditary, so it's mine now. And I say watching the pig-worshippers burn her homeworld gives Saera all the maturity she'll ever need to earn a stab at Zoda, or any other Dragmirian she ever comes across."

"That's fine and dandy, kid," Peppy said irately. "But the Sage of Time's not flyin' the _Foxfire_. I am. And I take orders from just one man: Fox McCloud." Having said this, he looked at Fox for a decision. "Your call, Fox. Do they go, or do they stay?"

Fox let out an exhausted sigh as once more Peppy neatly deposited the weight of command squarely on his shoulders. He chewed on his lip for a minute, looking each of the Argonians and Mike in the eye. At length, he lifted his finger and pointed at Mike and Dr. J. "They go." He flicked his hand to point in Mica's direction and said, "so does she. The rest of them stay here with the Regent."

"Fox," Krystal was the first to argue.

"Nope" Fox held up his hand, ending the discussion. "Hirocon is right. They're too young, and we're not stopping by a babysitter when on the way. Once we leave, our first stop is going to be a combat zone.

"But we want to fight!" Daru stamped his foot. "We want to go! We have the right-"

"You have the right to go anywhere you want," Fox countered. "But you're not going there on my ship, period. End of subject."

_I can't say I agree with his decision,_ Mica thought ruefully. _But at least he can make one._ "Facing her companions, she forced herself to don a reassuring smile. "It's probably for the best, friends. After all, we're the ones with Triforce-Bearer bloodlines. We'll be safest."

"That settles it then," Fox said. "Merlin, if you'll take me and my team back to the ship, we'll start getting it ready to go. Just meet us on the bridge in six hours. And Merlin," he locked eyes with the wizard. "Don't try to bring the kids aboard, please."

"I won't," Merlin assured him. "I think they should go, truthfully, but I'll respect your wishes on your own ship. What's important is that Mike and Mica are going. So then, to the _Foxfire_ you go." There was a wave of his wand, and the usual flash, and the Star Fox Team vanished. As they disappeared, Merlin turned his attention to Mike and Dr. J. "I'll return in a few hours to take you two gentlemen, and you as well, princess, to the _Foxfire_. Until then," he tipped his pointed hat and vanished as well.

As the Argonian children shuffled mopingly off to their respective adopted homes, Hirocon arose and approached Mica. "Yes, _Regent_?" Mica acknowledged him, replacing 'father' with 'Regent' frigidly.

"Mica," Hirocon crossed his arms as he asked. "Precisely what do you think you're doing?"

"Precisely what Queen Zelda Argo would have done," Mica replied haughtily. "Defending my people, and my home." _And the man I love,_ she wisely stopped herself from speaking the last thought. Even so, the change in Hirocon's expression told her he'd sensed it in her thoughts.

"The man you…" Hirocon's eyes snapped to where Mike stood, talking to Dr. J about something. Hirocon didn't bother straining his ears to hear the conversation. "Then this is… Sisters, how did I manage not to foresee this?" He thought aloud.

"I don't know," Mica replied with a casual shrug. "But if you had, I'm sure you wouldn't have done anything about it. After all, that seems to be your approach to everything."

"Mica, this is no time to be childish!" Hirocon screamed, drawing the attention of Mike and Dr. J. "You could die out there. Don't you understand that?"

"Nothing's going to happen to her, Hirocon," Mike attempted to intervene. "I'll make sure of that."

Hirocon brought the full aristocratic bearing of a lifetime in the Argonian Regal court to bear as he looked condescendingly at Mike. "Young man," he spat, "this is a private conversation, between the Regent of Argonia and his heir. And I would suggest-"

"What it needs to be," Mica struck back with her own air of untouchable regality, "is a conversation between those preparing to leave on the _Foxfire_. And frankly, Regent, you are in the way."

Mike's mouth snapped shut as he finally became aware of the tension between the father and daughter.

"Of course," Mica mused, "that seems to be a familiar state for you."

For several minutes the two Royal Argonians stared each other down. Finally, Hirocon's resolve appeared to break. "Mica," he let out a breath as he spoke, running a hand through his slick red hair, "this is… well, it's…" he dropped his hand to his side and shook his head. "You'll change your mind," he said confidently and walked out of the lab. "You'll see the idiocy in this before six hours are passed."

Doctor J. watched as the Regent walked out, slamming the glass door shut behind him. "You know," he said after the door closed, "it sounded like the one he was trying to convince was himself." Mica said nothing, and Mike grunted his agreement. "Well, I suppose I'll leave you two kids to yourselves, because I've got a bit of packing to do before…" He hesitated, chuckling at the seemingly ridiculous completion of that sentence. "Before an extended interstellar trip. Don't forget though, Mike. You do as well."

"I won't forget, Unc," Mike insisted as Dr. J left the room to go upstairs. _And so here I am,_ he thought once Dr. J was out of the room, _alone with Mica. I wonder if this is how these meetings are always going to end_. Mike stopped his mind from going any farther down that track as he remembered his earlier conversation with her. Fortunately, Mica's attention was still focused on the door, apparently still fuming over her argument with Hirocon. "Mica? You okay?"

Mica closed her eyes. "I'm fine." A long pause followed. "I'm fine," she repeated, opening her eyes and looking away from the door, at Mike.

Mike shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Look, Mica. About earlier, I'm really, really sorry for whatever it was that I said while I was out. I can tell it bothered you."

Mica shook her head. "No, Mike, nothing you said bothered me. Believe me about that. It's just…"

Mike lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "It's just what?"

"It bothered me that you didn't remember saying it?"

"Oh, well that's an easy fix. Just tell me what I said."

Mica snickered. "It's not that easy in this case, Mike," she said sadly, turning her eyes away from him.

"Well can I make it up to you?" A note of pleading seeped into Mike's voice as he continued. Mica looked back toward Mike, unable to keep from smiling, and Mike took this as a cue to go on. "You know, maybe we could just hang out on the South beach one last time before we go, like we did back in the summer?"

"You know," Mica said dreamily, "that does sound wonderful."

_Evening of October 5, 1990_

_Southwest Coast of C-Island_

"I always wondered how we kept finding ourselves here this summer," Mica pondered, gazing out at the last pink rays of sun fading into the blue-green western horizon as she and Mike sat on the familiar stretch of beach.

"For me, it was kind of like a shelter," Mike admitted. "This was the first piece of Earth I saw after bailing off of Zoda's ship. I guess there's some part of me that just always connected this with safety from the nightmare. Kind of like a security blanket. And you just kind of followed my lead any time we hung out together, so we wound up coming here."

Mica thought about that briefly, and shrugged. "I guess that makes sense. Besides, it reminds me of… of home."

"Argonia?"

Mica nodded. "The beach on the eastern shore of Argo City wasn't all that different from this place. It was a short beach, tucked away by walls of wave-carved stone, just like this." She smiled at Mike, and he smiled back. For a while, the two just sat listening to the surf, feeling the waves licking playfully at their feet. Finally, Mica put aside the small-talk. "You know, I have to confess something."

"Hmm?"

Mica dug her feet further into the wet sand for a few seconds, too embarassed to look at Mike. "After you… after you blacked out in that fight with Zoda V, everyone thought…" She couldn't finish the thought. Instead, buried feelings of anger at Hirocon began to leak through to the surface of her mind. "My father, of all people, said we were too late. He was going to give up, and… well…"

Mike decided to ease her burden by taking the wheel of the conversation. "Then I guess it's a good thing you Read me and found out I was still there."

Mica looked silently at Mike for a minute. "So you know?"

"Well, not really," Mike admitted. "It was just kind of a guess. I mean, if Zoda was trying to infect my head, someone had to have gone inside my head and kept him out. I just kind of guessed that would be you."

Silence.

"Then, you're not mad at me for it?" Mica asked. "Reading you without your permission, I mean."

Mike rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his left hand. "Well, it wouldn't make much sense for me to be mad at you for saving my life."

"I didn't save your life, technically," Mica corrected, just as awkwardly. "You would've lived. Just…"

"As a Zoda."

"Right."

"Same difference then. You saved me. Still, it's kind of, well, it's a little…"

Mica nodded her understanding. "I know. You're not used to being Read, and having someone inside your thoughts like that is a bit awkward."

Mike swallowed a lump in his throat as he nodded. "Yeah."

Mica looked back out at the sea for a few moments before asking a question. "Why?"

Mike sighed. "I can keep someone out of my mind if I want, right? At least when I'm awake. That's easy. But, well, I'm not very good at 'controlled access.'" He held up quote signs with his fingers as he emphasized the phrase.

Mica wrinkled her brow. "What does that mean?"

Mike explained further. "See, the last time you Read me I couldn't let you just part of the way in. I just don't know how. Once I drop the barriers, my whole mind is open, waiting for you to look anywhere you want."

"Aah," Mica smiled a tiny smile. "I think I know what you mean. And you're right. There's no way to control what a psionic can and can't see when they Read you."

"That's just kind of… well, _personal_." Mike looked toward Mica. "I mean, like when you first came back, and I needed to know what you'd found out on Argonia, and you needed to know what'd happened here."

Mica finished his thought. "So you Read me, and I Read you at the same time."

"Exactly," Mike nodded. "Humans, I mean, Terrans aren't usually psionics obviously, so I'd never felt anything quite like that before. It was just… well, there was this kind of…" he made the same beckoning motion with his hand he always made when fumbling for a word, as if by bidding the word to come it would do so."

Mica blushed and looked away. "Intimacy," she suggested a word to complete the sentence, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Connection," Mike blurted out at the same time.

Right," Mica hastily agreed with Mike's less-defined term. "Exactly."

"And I'm just not used to that yet," Mike finished. "Honestly, it's kind of intimidating." He hesitated for a few moments. "Well, not when it's you." He didn't see Mica's smile as he said that. "But the idea of anyone else getting that up-close-and-personal with my subconscious, well, _that's_ intimidating."

Silence again.

"Mike," Mica tentatively took up a new angle after a minute. "After a conversation like this I'm almost embarassed to ask, but…" As Mike turned to look at her she shook her head, thinking it wiser to drop the issue. "Never mind."

"Don't give me that," Mike stopped her exactly as his father did when he tried to get out of talking about the memory-dreams. "Don't give me 'never mind.' There was something you wanted to ask."

Mica bit her lip. The look on her face reminded Mike of a small child with her hand caught in a cookie jar as she spoke. "Can I Read you again?"

"What?"

"Forget it," Mica said nervously, looking away from Mike again. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid thing to ask."

Placing his hand under Mica's chin, Mike turned her head back toward him. "Mica, trust me. It's not that I mind. It's just…"

"Yes?" Mica's voice quivered, sounding to Mike like she couldn't decide if she felt fear or anticipation.

"Why do you want to Read me?"

Mica swallowed, forcing her heart back down out of her throat as she did. "When I was inside your mind there was something you said that…" she fumbled. "Well, I just need to know something." As Mike's eyes began to betray his anxiety, Mica placed a hand on the side of his face, her own eyes pleading for his trust as she made one more appeal. "And I want you to Read me while I do."

Mike's only response was a few gasping breaths.

"Sisters, Mike. Just answer me."

"Mica, what you're asking is…"

"If you don't want to let me," Mica said more to herself than to Mike, "that's okay."

Finally, an uneasy smile crossed Mike's lips. "Okay. But first," he gently took Mica's hand and pulled it away from his face, holding it between his hands as he did. "What am I looking for when I Read you?"

A tear rolled off of Mica's face as she responded. "You'll know."

It was then that Mike felt a familiar tug at the back of his mind. Only this time, there was an urgency to it, a hunger that had not been there when Mica Read him last. _The look on her face is the same one Zelda had in that dream, _the thought enetered Mike's head unbidden. Without resisting, he stretched out his thoughts toward Mica. Within moments he felt himself surrounded by her dreams, her fears, everything that made her Mica Argo. It all lay before Mike, as clear and accessible as books in a library. He needed only to pick one out and peruse it. Even then, the sense of her beckoning him deeper was unmistakable.

As he began to uneasily follow her half-conscious summons, he felt the swirling torrent of questioning anxiety around him give way to something new. It was a deep, passionate, utterly unyielding ecstasy, and Mike understood its meaning instantly. _Oh, God,_ he thought, remembering too late that as they were now, thinking something was tantamount to saying it. _That must be what I said when she was Reading me back from Zoda. She knows how I feel._

**_Mike,_** her thought-voice resonated through their link, permeating his deepest thoughts as it never had before. **_Do you know how long I've waited to hear that?_**

As Mica's own feelings became dazzlingly clear to Mike, the moment took on a new meaning for him. Here they were, a son of Link's line and daughter of Zelda's line, sharing their final night before a journey across the stars. _But this time,_ Mike told himself, _it's different. We're both going. **Mica,**_ he answered, **_I know _exactly_ how long you've waited. In fact, I know it better than you do._** Like Zelda and Link before them, the hero and the princess shared a single night. But unlike the night shared by their ancestors, there was no sadness in it. They both knew, it wouldn't be their last. In a few hours they would be leaving on the _Foxfire_, beginning a nightmare greater than any they had known. But that, for the moment, could wait.

For now, they had their own stars to travel.


	11. Chapter 11: The Regent of Argonia

Chapter Eleven: The Regent of Argonia

"_You'll see the idiocy in this before six hours are passed." That's what Hirocon said to Mica in that meeting when she told him she was going to come back to Argonia with us to fight. He was sure that she'd change her mind about going, that she'd whimp out at the last minute or something._

_He was so convinced, he didn't even bother showing up to say good-bye when we piled on to the _Foxfire_ and left. He really didn't think there'd be any good-byes to say. Yeah, the other six were there, and that lead to some tear-jerking moments, especially the way little Saera cried. Man… she knew. Y'know how we always like to assume that little kids don't really understand what's going? Wrong. She knew. They all knew. Nobody said it, but they all knew this was probably a one-way trip. But in all the crying and hugging, Hirocon was totally not there. Merlin didn't stay long either, for that matter. He teleported us to the Foxfire, and then disappeared. Said something about it being too dangerous for the Triforce of Power Bearer to go so close to Zoda when Zoda had the other two pieces. Kind of made sense, I guess. I really wasn't thinking about that. I was more worried about Mica._

_You know, the last time I talked to my dad before I left, he was telling me he hoped I didn't go, but he wanted me to do what I thought I had to do. Not exactly encouraging me on, but willing to admit that I had to make my own choice. But what was the last thing Mica heard from her dad before getting on this ship and heading off to fight? It was him calling her an idiot. She's an idiot, he says, because she's going to fight for her people and her world while he babysits._

_You know, I shouldn't judge. The fact is Hirocon's probably done a lifetime worth of awesome things for Argonia. But right now, he's looking like a sorry king and an even worse dad. And if I get through this and get back to Earth in one piece I'm going to be in the Argonian history books twice. Once for saving Argonia from Zoda…_

…_And once for being the first Human ever to knock the shit out of an Argonian Regent._

_-From the Journals of Mike Jones; October 6, 1990__

* * *

_

_Evening of October 6, 1990 (Earth Reckoning)_

Foxfire_ Crew Quarters, Room 94_

"Well, that's everything," Mike said as he closed the locker at the foot of what was now his bunk, concealing the Super Nova, the 'Island Yo-Yo' he'd used at the onset of his endeavors, and a few other momentos of his island adventure. What clothing he'd had foresight to bring from Seattle to C-Island was already packed away in a nearby wall locker. "I'm officially unpacked and moved in onboard a spaceship." He grinned over his shoulder at Dr. J, who had chosen the lower of the two beds on the opposite side of the four-man room. "Kind of intense, don't you think?"

"It certainly took you long enough," Dr. J replied back, his face half-concealed behind the open Oxford Wonder World, which he was convinced still contained hidden clues to what lay before them, as he sat on his bunk. "We've been here almost a full day. And I must say the word 'intense' does indeed spring to mind, but only when I think about the headaches I get when I look out there." The last was emphasized by a nod toward the rippling silver and white field of the slipstream visible through the transparisteel window.

Mike gave a 'hmpf' at Dr. J's curmudgeon-ish comment. "Well, since it looks like you've got your nose buried in a book as usual, I'm gonna go have a look around."

"Well, be careful as you're out looking around. As you said, this is a spaceship." Dr. J's eyes remained fixed on the pages in front of him, his face still half-concealed as his eyes moved from one side of a page to another. Mike found the effect rather comical.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just mean don't go doing to this ship what you did to the last one you were on."

That prompted a laugh from Mike. "Relax, doc. I won't go looking for the reactor. I'm just going to, y'know… take the time to, uh, get familiar with…"

"With Mica's quarters?"

"Yeah. I mean, well… hey, wait a second."

Dr. J was already shooing Mike away with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, I know. Go on, get out."

Mike shuffled his feet awkwardly. "So you know?"

This time it was Dr. J who Hmpf-ed. "If subtlety was your intention, then you both failed miserably. Everyone who was in the room when we left Earth knows about you two."

Mike bit his lip. "Including Hirocon."

"Most definitely," Dr. J affirmed, barely ackowledging Mike's apprehension at the idea. "Which means you're probably due for a conversation with him if we get back."

"_If_ we get back, huh?" Mike repeated darkly, noting the choice of the word 'if' instead of 'when.' "Well, bring him on. He's already on my shit list."

Dr. J put down the book and looked straight at Mike with a warning glare. "You know, Mike, I've grown quite tolerant of your language lately, but if you're going to go cavorting around with a princess you should probably learn to act like some caliber of a gentleman. And as to your regard for Hirocon-"

"He totally disowned Mica because she wasn't going to roll over and play dead like he was, doc," Mike said over Dr. J. "Besides all that, he let Zoda live when he could've just offed him. He let his planet get wiped out when he could've stood and fought. He-"

"He was the ruler of a planet, with the lives and laws of an entire race to bear responsibility for, Mike," Dr. J stopped Mike before he could go too far. "He allowed Zoda to live because Argonia's law didn't allow execution, and he wanted to show that Argonians would not sacrifice their principles in the face of Zoda's brutality. And as for allowing Argonia to be destroyed, unless I'm mistaken Mica told us that Hirocon tried to face Zoda alone, man to man. After losing, and seeing the Triforce of Wisdom wrenched from his grasp, he knew he stood no chance against Zoda's forces. So he sacrificed the majority of his people so that the race and culture of Argonia could survive, and so Zoda couldn't revive Dragmire. That, if you ask me, was probably the bravest thing I've ever heard of a leader doing. Yes, he made some costly mistakes at critical times, but don't be so quick to judge. Could you have made the decisions he's had to face?"

Mike shrunk back when faced with Dr. J's question. "I've had to make life or death choices before, and I'm only sixteen."

"Yes," Dr. J admitted. "You've made decisions where your own life hung in the balance, Mike. But what would you have done if you were responsible for the lives and deaths of everyone else on Earth? Or rather, with the very culture of Humanity. Consider it. Stand and fight and you may win, but more likely is the idea that your world will vanish completely from the cosmos, without even a memory. Evacuate, and your people will be hunted down to the last man, woman and child. Or, you can send one escape pod, sacrificing the rest as cover for it. You'll be cursed by the history books, remembered as a coward, and out of an entire world all but eight of your people will die. But their memory will at least live on, and your culture will have a chance to rise again. Could you make that choice?"

At that, a touch of the anger in Mike's face faded to make way for a glimmer of sympathy, if only momentarily. "Well, he still shouldn't have stayed on Earth while his daughter went off to fight, and he shouldn't have talked to Mica like he did. He's her dad, after all."

Dr. J nodded. "Yes, Hirocon and Mica both said some things that shouldn't have been said," he said, placing somber emphasis on the word 'both.' "And for my part, I pray they both live to try to see those wounds healed." That comment hung thickly in the air for several minutes. "Well," Dr. J's voice lightened as he picked the Oxford Wonder World back up, "enough of that. Go on, shoo. Go spend some time with Mica, and leave me to my book. After all, I'm busy."

"Very, very busy," Mike finished for him.

"Exactly," Dr. J's overly serious tone drew a grin from Mike. "Because that's what us stuffy old scientist types do. So away with you. Oh, and don't stay out too late. According to Fox, you have an early morning tomorrow."

"You mean flight training? Yeah, don't remind me."

Dr. J shrugged. "Well, Fox is of the opinion that you'll need to be able to fly something with guns if it comes to a space battle, unless of course you plan to hold your breath, flap your arms and try to psychic shockwave every enemy ship you come across. In any case, scram."

"I'm already gone," Mike regained his usual cheer as he strode toward the door, stopping for a moment as the motion-activated door slid open in front of him. "Hey, doc," he turned around to say one final thing.

"Hmm?" Dr. J raised his eyebrows, having reassumed his eyes-fixed-upon-page stance.

"Thanks." Mike didn't wait for a response, and Dr. J didn't give one. There was no need. Instead, Dr. J heard the hissing sound of the magnetically closed door closing back behind Mike.

_Crew Quarters, Room 86_

_So I'm an idiot then,_ Mica thought sullenly as she lay on her bunk in the quarters she had shared with Saera and Naberra on the trip to Earth. With the other children remaining on Earth she now had them to herself, and she was beginning to find the solitude almost unbearable. It just compounded the loneliness she already felt.

She'd had twenty years to cope with the loss of Argonia. Not twenty fully conscious years, but twenty years nonetheless. In that time, she felt shed moved on all she was ever going to. She'd grieved for the friends lost. For Moraigne, her _Etanni_.

And for her father.

_And then along came Mike_. _A man who saved the cubes, revived us, and tracked down the Tetrads._ The Tetrads. Now there was a sobering thought. To be reunited with her father after mourning his passage… at the time it had seemed nothing short of a miracle. And then being able to return to Argonia… but the return to Argonia wasn't so pleasant after all.

She clutched her pillow tightly in front of her, as if to squeeze those thoughts out of her head. She didn't need to remember her horror at Argonia's state, or finding out Moraigne was alive only to have him send her into exile, or having to flee Argonia yet again…

…_Or finding out my father wasn't the king I thought he was. Sisters, I gained everything I lost just to lose it again._

The welcome _beep-beep_ of the doorbell intruded on her concentration. "Enter," she called to her unidentified guest. The doors slid apart and Mike stepped into the room, looking at Mica bemusedly as the door closed behind him.

"Enter?" he repeated. "Can't just say 'come in' or 'it's open' like everyone else. You've gotta be all formal."

"You greet people your way and I'll greet them my way," Mica responded, clutching her pillow more tightly still and hiding her face behind it, leaving just her eyes and nose peering over the top of it. The effect produced a laugh from Mike. "What's so funny?" she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"Nothing," Mike assured her, shaking his head and grinning. "It's just that you're cute when you do that."

"When I do what?" Mica asked, blinking innocently and hiding all but her eyes behind her pillow.

Mike walked toward Mica, sat down on the bed beside her, and slid his left arm around her waist. Mica, deciding Mike's shoulder was better suited for resting her head on than the pillow was, loosened her grip on the pillow and let it drop into her lap as she leaned against Mike. "That," Mike answered tenderly. "So what's on your mind, princess?"

"Too much," was Mica's answer.

"Yeah, I'll buy that." Mike put his other arm around Mica and pulled her as close to him as he could manage. As she leaned into his embrace, he stretched his thoughts toward hers, tugging at them. **_Anything you want to share?_**

**_It's nothing you don't already know_**, Mica admitted as she opened her consciousness up and mentally reached in turn to Mike. She could feel Mike's mind and hers connecting as they Read each other. **_I'm glad to see you're getting more comfortable with this._**

**_Only with you_**, Mike noted quickly. **_You're bummed about Hirocon, aren't you?_**

"I guess I just can't believe… I mean, he just _gave up_, Mike. He wasn't willing to come and fight for Argonia, and that was bad enough. But to stop me from doing the same?" She reached up to her eyes to wipe away the beginnings of tears. "Even if Argonia's not the paradise it was before, it's still worth fighting for, isn't it?"

"Mica, all I know about Argonia is what I've seen from your memories," Mike's voice took on an almost apologetic tone, an indirect admission that he couldn't give her an answer. "But I know what IS worth fighting for."

"And what's that?"

Mike lifted her chin and brought his face to within inches of hers. "You are," he said with certainty, planting a kiss on her forehead.

In spite of her best efforts to forget Hirocon, and in spite of the fact that her faint smile spread fully across her face at the gesture of affection, Mike's use of the same gesture her father had used when she was a small child brought her dispute with her father back to the forefront of her memory. "You really think I'm worth all this?" She asked, beginning to sob.

"Not a doubt in my mind," was the immediate answer from Mike.

"Then why doesn't my own father think so?" Something in Mica broke as she asked that, and Mike found himself cradling her more tightly still in his arms, as if he hoped to wrap himself around her like a security blanket.

**_He will, Mica_**, Mike assured her. **_Before all this is over, he will._**

**_You really think so?_**

**_I know so._**

_Southwest Coast of C-Island_

"I expected I'd find you out tonight," Merlin called out as he approached Hirocon. "But I never expected it would be here."

Hirocon made no reply. He merely stood, stretched up to his full height, arms clasped behind his back, jaw set, the very model of Argonian Royalty. The only movement was that of his cloak flowing in the sea breeze behind him, and his hollow stare was fixed upon the fading border between sea and sky out to the southwest, reminiscent of a harbor sentry as Merlin approached him. The old wizard had no idea how long Hirocon had been there, but it had obviously been long enough for the surf to erase the footptints he'd made on his way.

"I must confess," Merlin said more quietly as he neared Hirocon. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed in you, old friend."

"And I'd be lying as well," Hirocon finally broke his silence, remaining motionless, "if I said I was surprised."

By this time, Merlin stood beside Hirocon. "Which I will take to mean you realize why," Merlin refused to let up for a moment.

"I'm not going to get one iota of mercy out of you, am I?" Hirocon finally turned his eyes irritatedly toward Merlin.

"Quite right, and I'd be a poor friend indeed if I gave it to you."

Hirocon turned his gaze back toward the sea, but maintained much of his former irritation as he spoke. "Is there a reason for this visit, or did you come out here just-"

"Oh, spare me the 'did you come here just to torment me' routine, Hirocon. You know full well I wouldn't have come here without reason."

There was a pause before Hirocon's response. "And what reason would that be?"

"I think you know."

"Indulge me."

"So be it. I came to talk a dram of sense into you."

Hirocon shook his head almost imperceptibly. When he spoke, it was in a voice laden with ironclad guilt. "My daughter thinks me a coward. My people think me a failure. Those left of the Alliance my ancestors forged think me a liability. I think I've had quite enough sense talked into me of late, Son of Link."

Aware that this could easily be the moment that would either steel the Argonian Regent's dwindling resolve, or shatter it forever, Merlin chose his words carefully. "I doubt that very much."

Merlin expected his remark to earn him a scathing backlash of all the bitterness developed by centuries in semiconscious time-sleep in the matter-energy cycle of the Tetrads.

To Hirocon's credit, and Merlin's approving surprise, no such rebuttal came. Instead, Hirocon merely gave an accepting nod of his head as his former anger gave way to a sensation that simply refused to release its grip on him: the sensation that what Merlin had to say should be heard. Holding silent for long enough to let his anger simmer down enough that he was certain what was left of his royal bearing could keep it in check, Hirocon bade the wizard speak. "Speak your piece, old friend."

As he often did, Merlin began to pace, this time in a slow circular pattern around Hirocon. "What was the exact point where you failed your people, Regent?"

Hirocon remained silent for so long Merlin began to doubt he would answer. Finally, he ventured, "when I didn't take your advice and stop Zodanorv's cult before they unleashed their reign of terror on Argonia."

Merlin stopped pacing. "Tell me, Hirocon. Who is Regent of Argonia? Me, or you?"

This time Hirocon wheeled on Merlin. "_That_ is going too far, wizard."

"It was a simple question," Merlin replied unemotionally. "Me, or you?"

The glare Hirocon leveled at Merlin as he responded could have dropped a planetary shield. "Let there be no question, wizard. First, last, and always _I_ am the heir to Argo's line, Regent of the kingdom he built."

"Exactly," Merin swatted away the serrated edge in Hirocon's voice with his casual reply. "If you'd taken my advice, yes. Argonia _might_ have been spared. Or, it might have simply been the leverage Zodanorv Drekmyr needed to sway public opinion against the crown, enabling him to seat himself on your throne in a coup, all the while beating his breast about the wrongs commited against him. We will never know. The point is the choice was yours to make, not mine. Under the law, Drekmyr could not be penalized for religious practices, no matter how perverse a deity he chose to serve, and you chose to uphold the law. Do I hear you cry that your people paid the price for your decision? Guess what, my friend. That's called 'leadership,' and no-win scenarios are a fact of life."

Hirocon shook his head argumentatively. "But even after he commited his crimes, I suffered him to live. And when he returned, I allowed the Triforce of Wisdom to fall into his hands. And then…"

"And then," Merlin anticipated Hirocon's next point, "you sacrificed your world and most of its people to keep the Sages' descendants from Zoda, and at the same time to preserve a remnant of Argonia. Do you question whether it was the right decision? I say you made a choice when there was NO right decision."

Hirocon looked questioningly at Merlin. "Then where did I go wrong?"

Merlin spoke uncharacteristically slowly, making sure every syllable was crystal clear. "When you sentenced an innocent man for Zoda's crimes while allowing Zoda to go unpunished."

Hirocon's thick eyebrows formed a pronounced 'V' as he wrinkled his brow. "Who?"

"Yourself."

At that, Hirocon found himself unable to keep from turning away and laughing. "Myself?" He asked mockingly, spinning back around to face Merlin.

"That's right," Merlin responded doggedly. "Yourself. Why was it that you refused to return to Argonia when you learned that Zoda wasn't acting alone? Hmm? I'll tell you why, and it had nothing to do with knowing Zoda had an ally now. It was because you felt weak because of your past defeats at Zoda's hands. The decisions you've made in the past have cost you dearly, so now you're afraid of making a decision at all. That's why you didn't return to face Zoda, that's why you allowed Michael to go in your stead, and that, my friend, is why you would not stop your daughter from following Michael."

Hirocon took a step backward, the look on his face liken to a man who has been struck in the chest.

_Well then, _Merlin resolved, noticing the effect of his words on Hirocon,_ perhaps it's time to present him with the underlying decision._ "It was Zoda, not you, who destroyed Argonia, Hirocon. It was Zoda, not you, who caused the deaths of a Cornerian crew a few weeks ago. But if you don't take a stand now it will be Zoda, not you, waiting for your daughter and her allies when they reach Argonia, and I doubt their reception will be a welcome one."

Acceptance of the simple truth of Merlin's words came slowly to Hirocon, and he turned and walked away only to stop himself a few steps later. "There's little chance that I can accomplish anything on Argonia alone," he persisted.

"Ah," Merlin grinned knowingly. "But then you don't have to go alone, now do you?"

Hirocon's chin jutted out defiantly as he realized Merlin's meaning. "But they're so young," his voice came out in a choked whisper. "I wouldn't wish the horrors of war upon them."

A trace of regret darkened Merlin's eyes for a moment. "Nor I." And then the regret was gone, replaced by his usual fiery insistence in a cause only he fully understood. "But what you wish or I wish is irrelevant. It IS upon them, Regent. And children or not, they are the last of the Sages' bloodlines and deserve a chance to fight back, as their forebears did."

Hirocon tried one final tactic. "I don't guess you care that with the _Foxfire_ gone we don't have a ship."

Merlin gave him an impatient look for a moment before breaking into a recognizable impersonation of Hirocon's voice. "I knew Argonia," he said in Hirocon's voice. "I was tied to it. It's easy for a powerful psionic to travel to a place to he knows so well."

Sighing in irritation, Hirocon nodded. "Of course." He fired an annoyed look at Merlin. "Has anyone ever told you, my friend, that you are an aggravating old _d'elcra_."

"You're welcome as always, Your Excellency," Merlin replied cheerily. "Now what are you going to do?"

"Have the children meet me in the village square in one hour," Hirocon ordered. "Tell them we're going to Argonia, with or without the _Foxfire_."

_October 8, 1990 (Earth Reckoning)_

_Interstellar Space_

A fireball erupted in front of Mike's Arwing, replacing the Venomian fighter that had been there before. Mike, too distracted by the noise of alert sirens around him (along with the resounding cries of 'why did I let Fox talk me into this pilot thing' and 'this has gotten WAY out of hand' repeating inside his head) to notice, piloted his Arwing straight through. Fortunately, the fireball dissipated into the vacuum of space before any real damage could be done to Mike's ship.

"Watch yourself, kid," Fox warned over the radio headset Mike wore. "You almost got cooked back there."

"I know, I know," Mike snapped back, banking his fighter sharply right (too sharply, he discovered as his insides caught up with the rest of him a moment later) to avoid one of the larger chunks of debris from the fighter. "I'm trying."

"Well, you've got incoming at twelve o'clock, four o'clock and eight o'clock," Fox replied.

"Okay, okay," Mike responded breathlessly, glancing at the controls in front of him for another moment. _Okay, now what was the U-Turn sequence? Oh yeah, pull back the throttle, and… and one of these little yellow button doohickeys here on the right handgrip thingy. Yeah, that was it. But which one? This one, I think. Okay, here goes. _At once, Mike pulled the ship's throttle back and pressed what he hoped was the correct button from among four identical yellow ones. In response, the starscreeen arrayed in the window before him began to spin vertically as the ship made a one hudnred eighty degree vertical turn, ending facing the opposite direction as before, and "upside down" if such a thing existed in space. The latter only lasted a moment, as the ship's stabilizer automatically rolled the ship one hundred eighty degrees on it's Y-axis. _I think I'm gonna hurl,_ Mike thought as he he stopped spinning. The _Foxfire_ was now directly ahead, on the outskirts of his vision, which meant he was moving toward the comforting cover fire of its three anti-fighter cannons. _The problem, _he realized a moment later_, is that I'm supposed to be drawing fire away from the _Foxfire, _not toward it_. So caught up in taking his new bearings was he that he barely noticed as he passed between the two enemy fighters formerly at his four and eight, which collided with each other as they attempted to turn around and pursue their target.

"Not bad, kid," Falco complimented.

"You've still got one on your six though," Slippy brought Mike's attention back to his situation.

"Someone wanna cover me, or something?" Mike shouted into the headset.

"Got nothing for ya, Mike," came the immediate reply from Fox. "You're gonna have to do this one alone. Focus. You can handle this."

"Okay, focussing," Mike answered. "And I-" Mike stopped in mid sentence as a direct volley of laser blasts to his ship's engine rocked the ship and showered the inside of the cockpit with sparks. From the corner of his eye, Mike saw a flickering change in the ship's status display, a green-line image of the Arwing seen from above. The right side wing now glowed red, signalling that the wing had been severed from the ship by the blast. "Thank God for that… what's it called? G-Diffuser or something?" Mike muttered.

"Move it, Mike!" Falco's voice brought Mike's thoughts back to the present. "He's right behind you!"

"Kinda noticed. Thanks," Mike snapped back.

"That's it, I'm going in to help him," Slippy announced. "Hold on, Mike. I'm on my way." As Mike sighed in relief, a silver-and-blue shape dropped from above directly in front of him, leveling its descent and beginning to loom larger in the window as it came closer. It was Slippy's Arwing. "I'll take him down for you, Mike. Bank hard to Starboard."

"Cool," Mike answered, and then hesitated. "Uh, Starboard's left, right?"

"No, right," Slippy corrected.

"Right like that's right, or right like Starboard is right?"

"Starboard's right."

"Cool, Starboard's right. Uh, whose right?"

"I'M RIGHT! Now bank!"

By this time, Slippy's Arwing was growing uncomfortably large in the forward window, and Mike began to fear they would collide in the midst of the aerospace navigational debate. "Bank which way? Left, or right?"

"My left, your right, Mike!"

"Wait, I'm confused."

"Oh, just get out of the… Agh!" Slippy's Arwing entered into an overhead loop just in time to avoid colliding with Mike. Mike, acting on his own impulse, clenched his thumb down on the button he hoped was the brake, and was rewarded by the low hiss of the fighter's reverse/brake thrusters igniting. That proved a fatal error. As Mike's Arwing slowed to a crawl, the enemy that had been pursuing him took advantage of the distance lost, emptying a barrage of laser fire into the already weakened craft.

_"Warning,"_ declared the ship's on-board computer. _"Loss of shields. Hull compromised."_

"No way, ya think?" Mike screamed back at the computer as another volley buffeted the fightercraft.

_"L-l-loss of inter-ter-ternal stabilizer. G-Diffu-fu-fuser system damaged,"_ continued the computer, it's voice now broken and stuttery. _"Loss of fu-fu-f-f-f-fuel cont-t-ta-ta-tainment. Reactor br-breach imminent."_ Mike let go of the controls in disgust, fastened his atmospheric containment suit, and reached for the 'eject' button. There was a hissing sound as the cockpit began to depressurize and the canopy began to open…

…and then stopped, with only a space of a few centimeters between canopy and ship. Mike stared in shock for a moment before reaching his hands into that small space and attempting to pry the canopy open. It wouldn't budge. He tried again: nothing. It took only a moment for the harsh reality to sink in. His Arwing was about to explode, and he was stuck in it. Resigning himself to his grisly fate, Mike leaned back in the pilot's chair and waited as the ship began to break apart around him.

_"Simulation over,"_ intoned the _Foxfire_'s computer as the flight simulator powered down. _"Craft survival: negative. Pilot survival: negative. Enemies neutralized: three."_

"Well, congratulations, Mike," Fox announced with mock cheer, entering the simulator room as Mike climbed out of the simulator's cockpit. "You're dead, for the…" he began to count on his fingers for a moment. "Ninth time today, even with Slip entering the sim to help you out. So, want to tell me why you're dead for the ninth time, or should we just go for a perfect ten?"

"I'll pass on the ten, Fox," Mike grumbled as he began to shed the mock atmospheric containment suit, revealing the now sweat-stained blue T-shirt and khaki's he'd worn during his initial trek through the islands (his 'lucky outfit,' as he now called them). "And that was the eighth time, by the way. That time Falco got tired of me shooting him by mistake and shot me down doesn't count."

Fox sighed. "Fine. Tell me why you're dead for the eighth time."

"Because the controls were made for people with three hands, Fox," Mike screamed. "I mean, look at this thing. It's got one right hand grip, sure, but there are two lefts. Two, left hand grips, Fox. Who the Hell has two left hands _and_ a right? I mean, two port hands and a… whatever!"

"Kind of wondered that myself, to tell you the truth," Fox rubbed the back of his neck as he said. "But that's how they're made. Just pretend the other left handgrip isn't there. You'll almost never use it."

"I'll never use any of the controls if I have a choice," Mike snapped. "Fox, why am I going through this simulator anyway? It's not like I'm going to be flying missions when we get to Argonia or anything."

Crossing his arms, Fox leaned against the durasteel wall of the simulator room. "Oh really? Alright then, just what DO you plan to do? Remember, the old man and his magic won't be there to get you out of a tight spot."

Mike's reply came after a momentary pause. "Dude, I _so_ did not need that reminder. You know?"

"I think you did, actually," Fox badgered. "We don't have him, or his magic, or that Triple-Powered-Force thing tattooed on his hand."

"Dude, I think you mean 'Triforce of Power,'" Mike corrected, rolling his eyes at a conversation that was growing increasingly familiar. "And I know. Merlin stayed on Earth because it was too dangerous to bring the Triforce that close to Zoda, especially when he has its two buddies."

"Yeah," Fox half-agreed. "That's what he said when we left, anyway."

The implication was impossible to miss. "You think he's a chicken, don't you?"

Fox's brow wrinkled as he stared back at Mike. "Huh?"

"You think he chickened out by not going with us," Mike restated.

Fox raised one eyebrow skeptically. "I don't know how you think I'd mistake a Human for a chicken, but what I mean is I think he's sending us to do the dirty work while he sits back and watches."

Mike winced. _Note to self: no more animal slang to Cornerians._ "Y-yeah. That's what I meant. You think he just stayed behind on Earth because he was scared of Zoda and Andross?"

Fox pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on. "I don't know, Mike. Maybe I'm wrong, but… well, if it was that dangerous to bring the Triforce together, don't you think he would've mentioned that beforehand?"

Mike said nothing. Indeed, that had not occurred to him.

"But he didn't," Fox went on. "Did you notice that? He never mentioned not going until right after he dropped us off on the ship, and then he suddenly had this oh-so-important reason to stay behind? It doesn't add up, Mike." As Fox left the last comment deliberately unresolved, the two stood in silence, save for the rustling sounds of Mike's atmospheric suit as he crumpled it up and handed it to Fox.

"Well, here's this thing," Mike let out a 'whoosh' of a sigh as he handed the wad to Fox, masking his relief at the change of subject beneath his relief at being through with the suit. "I'm calling it a day for now. This Top Gun stuff is starting to bum me out." As Fox accepted the suit, Mike started for the door that would lead to the hallway. "Think I'll see how Dr. J is doing on that rifle range you said he had to train on.

Fox looked like he was about to insist Mike put the suit back on and get back in the simulator, but to Mike's relief, he didn't. Instead he started to unwad the suit and semi-fold it, slinging it over his shoulder. "Aright," Fox conceded. "But you're going to have to get used to this. Even if you expect to go one on one with Zoda, you're going to have to get to the ship somehow."

Mike stopped short. _Great. One more thing I didn't think of. And now that he mentions things I didn't think of…_ "'Ey, Fox," Mike spun around to face McCloud.

Fox looked up. "Hmm?"

"When we get to Argonia, what exactly is our plan?"

Fox stared at Mike, dumbstruck, and then gradually began to laugh.

"What's so, funny?" Mike demanded.

Fox didn't manage to stop laughing until he was on his way out the door. When he did, he turned back to face Mike, whose eyes had been following him suspiciously ever since his question. "It's just that the way you said 'plan' almost made it sound like you think we have one."

_Marksmanship Range; _Foxfire_, Deck 6_

"Alright Doctor," Krystal smiled as she emerged from the armory carrying a meter-long, silvery gray rifle-like weapon slung over her shoulder. "Are you ready to begin?"

Dr. J nodded tersely. "I am."

"Alright then," Krystal said warmly. "To begin with, let's familiarize you with the weapon. This is the Beltino Industries Z-19. Plasma based, matter-antimatter microcell fueled. Due to the continually recharging power cell, it has virtually unlimited shot capacity under normal circumstances. This particular weapon, however, has a trainer-limiter on it that will prevent the weapon from firing once a certain number of shots have been fired. Here, see how it feels."

She held the weapon out toward Dr. J, who took it in his arms and looked over it, finding where the handgrips were. "The trigger is underneath the rear handgrip," he noted. "Just as it is with Earth weapons. Some design characteristics seem to be universal." Turning the weapon over, his eyes traced along a bulge on the top. "What's this?"

"That's the sight," Krystal explained.

"But why does it have this lens facing back toward the user?"

"The Z-19 has a forward mounted holocamera which collects information about where the weapon is pointed. It then projects this information onto the retina of your dominant eye, superimposing a targetting scope over the images. This way you can aim, even without taking the time to align the weapon perfectly with your eye. You just have to put your eye within the projection field of the camera."

"Sounds disorienting," Dr. J muttered apprehensively.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it," Krystal remarked in her typical soothing voice. "Now, let's talk about the proper way to hold the rifle. To begin with-" Krystal was interrupted by the same beeping sound that served as the doorbell of the crew quarters. On the range, this sound meant someone was requesting the rangemaster to open the security doors that sealed the range off from the rest of the ship. "Excuse me a moment, Doctor," she dismissed herself briefly and walked to a nearby monitor displaying the outside of the door. The monitor showed Mike, still soaked with sweat, standing outside the range with his hand on the 'request access' button. Pressing the speaker button down, she spoke into a mouthpiece near the screen. "Yes?"

"Is it okay if I watch this?" Mike asked interestedly. "You know, my uncle the scientist learning how to shoot stuff sounds way cool."

Krystal snickered and shook her head at the boy's question. _Adolescent males and their fascination with destruction… the doctor is right. Some things are universal._ "Alright, but stay back near the door. I don't want you wandering downrange by mistake."

"Cool," Mike responded emphatically as Krystal pressed the three-button override to unlock the security door and allow Mike onto the range. As Mike entered, she returned her attention to Dr. J. "Now Doctor, where were we? Holding the… oh!" She stopped her introduction as she beheld Dr. J, already facing toward the downrange end of the room with his rifle hefted to shoulder height, clutching the recoil stock tightly into his shoulder with his elbows held in close to his body. His right hand clutched easily around the trigger grip, and his left was comfortably closed around the barrel-guard. "My, my," Krystal complimented. "You catch on quickly."

Said Dr. J. "Then this is correct?"

"It appears so," Krystal said. "Well done, well done. I suppose we can move on to the first firing test." She pressed a button on a small remote in her hand and the lights in the room dimmed to near darkness. "This is called a 'three by three drill.' It's so named because you will have three shots, which you will fire at three slow-moving targets. The exercise will be timed, but accuracy is the first objective. Speed will come later. And don't worry about the consequences of a miss. The downrange section is rayshielded to prevent ricochets or hull damage."

Dr. J. nodded once, otherwise not moving. "Good to know."

Krystal watched Dr. J contemplatively for a moment. _His stance is perfect, and he looks quite comfortable behind that weapon. Most beginners are a great deal clumsier and more awkward than this. Or perhaps that was just me. Ah, well. Let's continue. _Smiling back at the Doctor, Krystal held up the remote again. "A target will look like this," she said as she pressed a button on it which caused a glowing red dot to appear at the downrange end of the room. "This one's stationary, but the ones in the drill will move. They'll start slow, but as you grow more proficient their speed will increase. They're small targets, so only a precise hit will be a hit at all." The target disappeared, and Krystal asked, "are you ready, Doctor?"

"Ready," Dr. J responded, still not moving.

"Very well. Begin." Krystal pressed a button on the remote and three red dots appeared in random locations downrange, moving chaotically about in their slow, incoherent patterns. No sooner had they appeared than three golden streaks lanced forth from Dr. J's weapon in rapid succesion, snuffing out all three of the glowing orbs.

_"Exercise over,_" the computer said in the same voice that moments before had rendered its unflattering report of Mike's performance in the simulator. _"Targets destroyed, three. Completion time, two point eight seconds. Accuracy, one hundred percent."_

The lights slowly returned to their usual level, revealing a Cornerian Fox and a teenage Terran both gawking at Dr. J, who was looking down at the weapon in his hand with a half impressed look. "It's got some kick I guess," he conceded. "But nothing like a grenade launcher."

Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the range wall, looking suspiciously at Dr. J. "And just what do you know about grenade launchers, doc?"

Dr. J glanced up from the weapon, looking at Mike across the top of his glasses. "An Ivy League education is expensive, Mike. Even with your grandfather's retirement pension from the Army, he told your father and me both that he would only pay our way to a bachelor's degree. After that, we were on our own. So I had a Bachelor of History degree, with my heart set on a doctorate. But graduate school wasn't going to pay for itself, and the Marine Corps needed Second Lieutenants. Eight years in exchange for tuition money seemed like a fair deal to me."

Mike continued to stare, unblinking, at Dr. J. The implications of his uncle's speech were simply too baffling to accept. "So what are you saying? Like, you're an ex-Marine or something?"

"_Former_ Marine, Mike," Dr. J corrected, grinning. "There's no such thing as an _ex_-Marine. Oh, tut tut now, Mike. You didn't think I was always a stuffy old archaeologist, did you?"

"Well," Krystal finally found her voice again. "It appears I underestimated you, Doctor Jones. Perhaps we should move on to a higher difficulty level."

"Yes," Dr. J agreed, taking his firing stance again. "Perhaps we should. It would seem I've lost much of my former edge."

"Lost your edge?" Mike gasped. "Doc, you just took out three nickel-sized moving targets in, like, two seconds."

"Two point eight," Dr. J specified. "With targets this slow, that needs work."

Mike slowly shook his head. "You're full of surprises, Uncle Steve. You're full of surprises."

_October 12, 1990 (Earth Reckoning)_

Havoc's Cry _Brig Area_

Zoda was not happy.

The body of Dragmire had been reconstructed, using the blood sample on Link's arrow. Andross's machines assured him that the organic regeneration had gone without mishap, and that the DNA code in the bloodstain was complete. He _looked_ complete. The dormant creature held in suspended animation in Oikinny's lab, fed by tubes and kept alive by artificial life support, did indeed look like Ganondorf Dragmire.

_And I would know_, Zoda reminded himself. _I've beheld Dragmire's glory before. I've seen the dread beauty of the dark god, the god who appeared in the visions of a young boy from the suburbs of Naboorucos, called me, chose me, and groomed me to be his herald. After these forty years, I've never forgotten that radiance. And now, through Andross's science, Dragmire is restored to flesh._

_So why can I not restore his mind?_

The psionic technique that Zoda performed on Pigma Dengar had ended in a complete restoration of the very same person Pigma Dengar had been before his death. Before the retrieval, Pigma had been a dormant husk, just as the body of Dragmire was now, so by performing the same technique on Dragmire's body, he should have been able to restore Dragmire to consciousness.

At least that's what _should_ have happened.

But after repeated attempts to reach into the atrophied psyche of the long-dead god, Zoda had not even been able to superimpose his own mentality over the corpse, much less restore the man whom the god once was, and he had no idea why. "_Fasch to'jah!_" Zoda spat a curse in the tongue of his Gerudo ancestors as he piled his fist into the durasteel panel of the wall outside the cell where the only hostage of New Argo City waited, prevented from moving by the electro-binders fastening his wrists and ankles to the wall.

"What's the matter, Dragmirian," taunted a weak voice from inside the cell. "Did your 'undying ancestor' not get the memo that he was supposed to be undying?"

The cell's forcefield came down as Moraigne's voice reminded Zoda of the diversion he had come to seek. Zoda entered the cell, and Moraigne Delvan received a psionic shockwave to the solar plexus for his remark. "If I were in your position I'd replace the filter on that little brain-mouth relay," Zoda growled, clutching his fingers on either side of Delvan's face and turning the refugee leader's head until his own red eyes bored into Moraigne's one good one.

Moraigne tried to spit in Zoda's face in response, but his mouth was too dry. His water-deprived bodysimply could not muster the saliva necessary for the gesture. And so he opted to speak instead. "Or what?" was his retort. "You'll kill me a little sooner? I've been dead for twenty years thanks to you. You've got nothing left to scare me with."

Zoda held his grip for a little longer before releasing Moraigne and relieving his frustration by sending a high voltage current of positron electricity through the prisoner's body for several seconds, courtesy of the switch to the electro-binders. "Ah," he said drily once Moraigne caught his breath after the assault. "The classic defiant Argonian spirit. Spare me such rhetoric, please. It's gotten quite old. I heard it from most of the denizens of your little cave shelter before the end." The defiant grin on Moraigne's face vanished in an instant at that. "You know," Zoda continued contemplatively. "It occurs to me, you actually managed to be a worse failure than that imbecile, Hirocon. At least he was able to save a remnant of his people for a few years. But you," Zoda paused in his tirade to enjoy a sadistic laugh at Moraigne's reaction to his taunts. "You didn't even manage to die with them, let alone save them."

"Go to Hell, Drekmyr," Moraigne shot back.

Zoda 'tsk tsk'ed mockingly, shaking his helmetted head. "Oh, now you've wounded me. And I held such high hopes for our growing friendship, too." Continuing the over-obvious charade, Zoda laced his fingers together in front of him, pretending to be struck by a new idea. "Perhaps there's a way I can be the bigger man and make things right between us." Zoda began to pace, rubbing his chin in an imitation of a thoughtful gesture. "Hmm… how to make amends for a growing division between myself and my guest of honor here…" He snapped his fingers. "I've got it. I know just the thing."

Moraigne managed a weak chuckle, only to have it dissolve into a fit of coughing. "You're a sick man, Drekmyr."

Zoda ignored this simple truth. "I'll bet you would be simply thrilled to hear about the other survivor of… what did you call it… New Argo City?"

Moraigne lifted his head just enough to aim a glare of hate-filled suspicion at Zoda. "Another survivor?" Mingled hope and disbelief shone through in his voice.

"Indeed," Zoda nodded. "Let me send for him." Zoda closed his coal-like eyes briefly, then said casually. "He should be here any moment now." That statement was confirmed seconds later by the metallic clanging of booted footsteps in the hall outside the brig. As the door opened, a green armored Dragmirian Trooper enetered the brig, rifle in hand, his face concealed beneath the helmet and breath mask. Zoda extended a demonstrative hand toward the trooper. "Meet New Argo City's other survivor," he explained unnecessarily. "After the fighting stopped he became a guest aboard this fine vessel I share with my colleague, just as you are now. It took some… suggestion, but I was able to persuade him that we should put aside our former differences." Some of the mocking left Zoda's tone, replaced now by a cold frankness. "Sadly, he didn't enter into the rewrite willingly, so he didn't receive the added cerebral power that could have been his, nor the Priest Lordship. Still, that's one more Argonian safely into the fold of the dark god."

"What is this? Some kind of sick joke?" Moraigne's attempt to put venom into his voice only made t come out as a hoarse whisper.

"It's no joke, my honored guest," Zoda remarked. "In fact," he looked at the cult trooper. "Identify yourself."

In response the trooper fastened his rifle to a carrier over his shoulder and unfastened the helmet of his pressurized green armor. As the air hissed from the higher pressure environment to the lower, the trooper removed his helmet…

…and Moraigne beheld the grinning face of Codren Krin. "I am Zoda Krin, servant of Dragmire," the cultist-that-was-Codren said in a voice that was at once unmistakably Codren's and unmistakably not.

The weeks of captivity had taken a toll on Moraigne's senses, and his already overtaxed mind had difficulty percieving what was happening in front of him, at least for a moment. But slowly, the fate of Codren Krin became nauseatingly clear. "You monster," he hissed, struggling in vain against the electro binders. "You psychotic, pig-worshipping bastard!"

Zoda gave his best impression of a long-suffering sigh. "Alas, you wound me again, and with the very olive branch I extended to you in friendship. Ah, Moraigne. It would seem you require another form of persuasion if we are to continue our friendship."

Moraigne grew tense. "What kind of… what are you talking about?"

Zoda removed the gauntlet of his right hand, revealing a clawed, green skinned extremity so warped by Andross's 'augmentations' that it was no longer recognizable as Argonian flesh. Were it not for the taxations on his brain, Moraigne would have allowed himself the most flickering of moments to consider that this might be the reason Zoda kept himself entirely concealed beneath his cloak and helmet. In the days before scratching out one day's survival after another in the battered ruins of his homeworld he might have even felt a flicker of pity for it. As it was however, he had only enough focus for a single thought, a clear, empahtic thought that echoed throughout every fiber of his being. _No! Not like this!_

"Don't worry, Delvan," Zoda's voice came out unsettlingly calm. "I'd no sooner harm you than harm myself. In fact, In a few moments that will be a more meaningful analogy than you realize."

_October 27, 1990_

_Bridge of the _Foxfire

Fox's eyes surveyed the bridge once to make sure all eight of the Foxfire's passengers and crew were accounted for. Mike and Mica stood off to one side, and Mike's arm was wrapped comfortably around Mica's waist. Dr. Jones sat in Peppy's usual seat, flipping feverishly through the pages of the Oxford Wonder World. The Star Fox team was present, all of them standing close by save for Slippy, who was making last minute combat readiness checks. Fox relaxed slightly as he accounted for everyone, then glanced at the display panel on the wall of the Bridge. "One quarter of a light year to the Hyrune System," he read the panel aloud before looking back down at Slippy. Or, more to the point, at Slippy's feet, the only part of him that protruded from a tangled and incomprehensible mass of wiring underneath the panel of buttons and datascreens that controlled the ship's helm. "So how're we coming on combat readiness, Slip?"

"Well, I think Peppy put it best in four simple words, Fox," Slippy griped, crawling out from underneath the tangle and being helped to his feet by Falco. "_Great Fox_ she ain't."

The mention of the team's late mothership, the vessel that Fox, Falco and Slippy had all three called home for all of their adult lives, earned a moment of regretful silence from the other four Cornerians present before Fox prompted Slippy to go on. "Well, we don't have the _Great Fox_ anymore, and I need speciffics, Slip. How's she going to hold up?"

The amphibian dusted his front off with both webbed hands before giving Fox a distinctly un-reassuring shake of his broad head. "Maneuverability on this crate's going to be like flying a cinderblock. A _Dreadnought_-class could actually outmaneuver this thing." Anticipating Fox's question, Slippy held up his hands defensively. "Before you ask, _don't_ ask. I don't know how a ship this small can manage to be slower and clumsier than a seven hundred meter long mobile launch base with neutronium armor six meters thick, but it is. It might have something to do with the fact that she's got the same maneuvering thrusters as a _Landmaster_ tank. Let's see, uh… you already know we've got no weapons except three anti-aircraft turrets, so no surprises there. And armor? You'd probably be happier not asking." He shook his head again, more slowly this time. "Bottom line, guys: if we run into any serious opposition we're screwed, to put it technically."

"I think I could put it a little more technically than that," Falco muttered, "but I don't feel like listening to another lecture from Krystal about my language."

Fox sighed. "Okay, so aside from just getting screwed, what do we do if we DO run into hostiles?"

"Pray we can outrun them," Slippy offered.

"Which, if any of the ship's other capabilities are any indication, isn't likely," Dr. J spoke up, putting down the Oxford Wonder World and joining the conversation.

"Nope," Slippy answered. "It's not. Let's face it, guys. This ship is from the pre-Aparoid Sector-Y Fleet, not exactly the pride and joy of the Defense Force. The thing's almost half a century old, and she wasn't top of the line when she was new."

"Oh, man," Falco moaned. "Pepper really shanked us on this deal."

"I think we should count our blessings," Peppy rebutted. "After all, Pepper didn't have to loan us a mothership at all. And besides, he at least pulled some strings and got the _Great Fox_ paid off so we didn't have to keep making payments on a ship that was already destroyed. Remember, the insurance didn't cover destruction in combat."

"Rather a gross oversight on a mercenary warship, in retrospect," Krystal mused.

Fox's ears pressed flat against his head as he looked around the room for support. "Look. I'm sorry if the idea that we would deliberately overload the reactor and fly her into a planet wasn't high on my list of likely scenarios when I took out the policy. Now if we're through nuking my money managing skills here, can we get back to the present?"

"Commander McCloud is right," Mica spoke. "We're here to eliminate two grave threats to the remnant of the Alliance."

Fox caught a glimpse of the bemused looks on the faces of the other members of the Star Fox team at Mica's mention of 'Commander McCloud.' _All this time and she still hasn't learned to drop that 'Commander McCloud' stuff._ "Alright," he said, seeming to regain some of his composure from Mica's statement of support. "Let's go over the mission briefing one last time. We know we're up against Zoda, and from what we've seen, he's capable of single-handedly hijacking one of our Dreadnoughts. We also know from the intel Mike got while he was… let's call it 'behind enemy minds'-"

"Oh, that's funny. Really," Mike butted in bitingly.

"-That Zoda is working closely with Andross Oikinny and Pigma Dengar. Now we don't exactly know what Andross and Zoda have in terms of ships and troops, but it's a safe bet that the Dreadnought _Havoc's Cry_ is under their control. That said, and with Slippy's report still fresh in our ears, I think it's safe to say we don't want to get into a space sortie."

"Which leaves us with option 'B,'" Krystal picked up where Fox left off. "The Capital."

"Right," Fox nodded at Krystal. "Because if Zoda and Andross did make a mop-up attack on Argonia, that's the most likely place to make contact with survivors and organize a counter-offensive. And if they haven't made it here yet, then we can warn the citizens of the danger."

"Uh, excuse me," Mike said quietly, raising his hand as he would when asking a question in class. One by one, all eyes turned to him. "Yeah, sorry. But, the last time we went over this plan it sounded like a bogus idea. This time, it sounds like a way, _way_ bogus idea."

"Oh really?" Falco asked, crossing his arms. "And why's that, Mike?"

"Well, let's see." Mike took on a thoughtful tone. "We're going to go down to Argonia, knowing that at any minute the sky could fill up with warships bent on blasting it to bits. Then, we're going to try meet up with a group of people none of us except Mica have ever met, and who've already threatened to kill Mica and any non-Argonians they meet from now on. Why? So we can warn them that more non-Argonians are coming to wipe them out, which is what they probably already think we're there to do."

"Unless, of course, they're already dead," Dr. J. inserted a footnote into Mike's speech.

Mike paused in his speech long enough to shoot an irritated glare at Dr. J. before going on. "All of that was the plan before. Only now, we know that if we do have to floor it out of the system in a hurry, this tin can isn't going to cut it. It really sounds to me like we're walking into a trap."

Fox looked each of his team members in the eye, then Mica, then Dr. J. From the looks on their faces, it was clear they were all thinking the same thing. "Yeah, I'll admit that," he said plainly. "But I really don't see that we have any other options. I mean, who are we going to go to for help? Cornerian Command is busy, and the rest of the Alliance isn't there anymore. We went over this before we left Qay-Dan."

Before anyone could say anything further, the floor beneath them began to shudder and the silver-white haze in the forward window returned to a starfield, with the glowing yellow-orange orb of the Argonian sun, Hyrune, hanging in space in front of them. "Well," Peppy stated the obvious. "We're here."

"Switch to sublight drive, Peppy," Fox instructed as Peppy, deftly dodging the exposed wiring Slippy had not had time to put back in place, took control of the helm. "Lay us in for Argonia."

"Already on it," Peppy replied. "We'll be in orbit of Argonia in four minutes."

On the far side of the bridge Mike looked at Mica, noting the tension on her face as they neared the world from which she'd been twice exiled. **_Are you going to be okay?_** Mike spoke his worry into Mica's mind.

**_I think so_**, Mica answered, reaching her hand down to Mike's hand at her waist and squeezing it gently. **_It's just kind of overwhelming being here again after everything that's happened._**

**_Yeah_**, Mike agreed earnestly, turning his eyes back toward the window. **_It kind of is for me too. I mean, not like it is for you I'm sure, but it still is._** After a moment he added,**_ But think of it this way. After all those times this summer you said you wished you could show me Argonia, now you'll finally get the chance._**

Had the latter remark come from anyone but Mike, Mica would have found it's fast-and-loose flippancy crass and insensitive under the circumstances. From Mike, however, the comment was an acknowledgement that he'd left his own world behind, both literally and figuratively, to become part of hers. Knowing this, and accepting it as it was meant and not as it had been said, Mica nudged Mike reasuringly.

Mike, meanwhile, watched the window with growing apprehension. His apprehension came not only from the memory of the foe he would soon face, nor the memory of Merlin's warnings that he and his present company would become entangled in something larger and more terrifying. It also came from the simple realization that he was, as he would have expected Dr. J. to put it, not in Kansas anymore. Just ahead of him lay Argonia, the ancestral homeworld he'd never known, the world where the events of the pivotal summer in his life had been laid out years before his birth. Behind him, half a galaxy away now, lay everything he'd ever known.


	12. Chapter 12: A Link to the Past

Chapter Twelve: A Link to the Past

_October 27, 1990_

Foxfire_ Bridge_

"We're in orbit of Argonia," Peppy reported. "No sign of any other ships in the area. 'Course, that could just mean the sensors are in the same shape as the rest of this bucket of bolts."

"Roger," Fox accepted the report without reacting to the comment about the general quality of the ship's systems. "Synchronize us above the capital and keep an eye open. Everyone else," he turned to address the others, making an effort to mask his look of anxiety as one of excitement. "Make for the landing shuttle, and let's see what's down there."

_Fifteen minutes later_

_Shuttle 1;_ Foxfire_ Main Hangar_

As he strapped himself into one of the passenger seats of the _Courier_-class shuttle, Dr. J drew the Oxford Wonder World from the standard-Cornerian-issue backpack he'd received from Fox and opened it again to the ninth chapter, gazing as he did at the illustration atop the page. His eyes fell on the silhouette of Zoda, standing half-concealed behind another silhouette he now knew to be Andross, before drifitng to the three other beings in the picture. _That one's Dragmire,_ he mulled over the image in his head._ We know that now. But who are the other two? And why haven't we heard about them yet?_ He stared hard at the shadowy outlines of a horned reptile and a mustached fat man, sifting through his memory for any trace of anything similar to them.

But he found none.

"Doesn't make any sense," he muttered, removing his glasses and wiping them on his shirt.

"Uh oh." From a seat along the same wall, closer to the debarking ramp, Mike diverted his attention to Dr. J, drawing the attention of Falco and Slippy as he did. "What is it?"

"Hmm?"

"You're doing that thing with your glasses that you always do when something doesn't quite add up," Mike explained.

Dr. J. snickered. "I don't give you enough credit for being observant, do I?" Mike said nothing, so Dr. J went on. "I'm just left wondering what Merlin isn't telling us. You have to admit he's been perfectly straightforward about not being perfectly straightforward with us." As he said this, Dr. J glanced up toward the co-pilot's chair where sat Krystal. Krystal, however, was too occupied with checking her instrument panels to notice.

Mica, who was sitting adjacent to Mike, joined the conversation. "What do you think he's hiding, Doctor J?"

Doctor J turned the book around so Mike and Mica could see it. "Andross and Zoda are here, and this one appears to be Dragmire, but someone's missing. Who're the other two?" Aware that neither could answer, Dr. J closed the book. "I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but I think we're nearer to the beginning of this whole enterprise than we are to the end."

Falco uncrossed his arms and leaned forward to speak to the three. "But I don't get it. I mean, we're all here, people from three different planets. We're fighting two of the biggest maniacs in galactic history, with a third one on the way, and we basically came here to kick ass or die trying. What's left? What could get bigger than this?"

Mike and Dr. J exchanged a knowing look. "The war in that chapter," Mike sighed, pointing to the book. "This, right here, today, is going to blow up into the war Merlin's been talking about all along, isn't it?"

Nodding absently, Mica looked away. "The one that's supposedly been going on since before Argonian or Terran civilization existed."

"Yeah, that one."

Falco rolled his eyes. "Oh, man. Then Merlin basically tricked us into coming here, knowing we were going to get in WAY over our heads."

No one responded. To all of them, it seemed, Falco's words rang undeniably true. And yet, as each of them found themselves surprised to realize, they felt no malice toward the conniving wizard for it, and though there was no discussion about it, they each somehow knew why.

There is a moment before any battle when a soldier, aware that he may go to his death that day, looks within himself to see why, precisely, he fights. It is in that moment when he will think on his fellows, and the possibility that the day may be their end as well as his. In that moment, a soldier cannot help but ask himself, "Is it worth it? Can I rest peacefully if I die alongside these people? Did this have to be this way?" For the seven warriors assembled in that Cornerian lander, that moment came on the heels of Falco's revelation, and each of them, searching their hearts, found that somehow this fight was meant to be. Since long before any of them were born, they felt, their meeting was preordained by forces greater than themselves. Why they felt this way, none of them (save for Krystal, whose people kept secrets older than many of them knew) could ever explain, nor could they give voice to this simple, implicit knowledge. And yet, in that moment of enlightenment, for these seven members of what would (as a few of them were now dimly aware) become the 'Vanguard of Heroes' of which the Oxford Wonder World spoke, the answer to those three questions was revealed. That answer, for each of them, was a resounding 'yes.'

"Well," Dr. J became the first to speak after Falco's question, "if we win, we live. And if we don't, well," the beginnings of an ironic grin flickered across his face, "at least we die in good company." As if in response the lander's thrusters roared to life. In moments the craft had passed through the oxygen-shield of the hangar and was on its way down to Argonia's surface, with Dr. J's words still in the minds of its occupants.

_New Argo City, Argonia_

Seven orbs of white light streaked silently through the sky, coming to rest on the ground at the mouth of the cave that housed New Argo City. As they touched ground they began to flicker, then take shape until the forms of Hirocon and the six Argonian children he'd brought from Earth materialized. With a momentary glance around to satisfy himself that the children were all accounted for and well, Hirocon availed himself of his psionic perception to look for other Argonians in the area.

There were none, and a momentary inspection of the scene was enough to tell him that his five worldly senses could have brought him to the same conclusion. The sky was black, and the only light came from the frequent discharges of lightning, courtesy of an unfriendly electrical storm. Fortunately, these flashes occurred with enough rapidity to allow for almost constant illumination. Through the smoke, of which his lungs became aware before his brain, and which wisped intermittently from the mouth of the cave, Hirocon was able to discern a hellishly battered landscape. What grasses had managed to take root in the toxic, rubble-ridden sand in the twenty years since Zoda's bombardment were burned to chaff, and of that, little was left undisturbed by the wind. Of the sand itself there remained a surface of broken black glass, visible for the entire length of the beach and halfway up the slope leading to the cave entrance. Even the rain, which fell from clouds that mingled with the smoke and ash in the air, was so thick with grime and soot that it fueled the ground fires dotting the landscape rather than snuffing them out. It smelled of oil too, Hirocon realized. Quite clearly, Zoda had returned for a second strike, and with superior weaponry this time. "The Lylatian, Andross," Hirocon muttered.

"It's awful," Saera whispered the group's sentiment.

"You've a gift for understatement," Rute added.

"I can't feel anyone alive in there either," Rauren noted.

Hirocon shook his head. "Nor I."

Despite the heat, which was still intense enough that the rain sizzled into steam funnels upon hitting the charred ground, Naberra shivered. "Their memories," she murmured. "The memories of the survivors, their last moments... They're burned into the air." Another shudder. "Holy Sisters, I'd forgotten how Zoda worked."

"He'll pay for his butchery," Hirocon assured the six while their resolve still held. Motioning for them to follow, he began the perilous walk up the now glassy crags of the slope toward New Argo City's entrance. The trip was slow, inhibited by the shimmering spikes now protruding from the formerly soft ground. More than once one of the younger children, not fully percieving the danger, stepped on a faulty patch and was saved from being impaled in a glass pit only by Daru or Naberra's reflexes. Indeed, the entire party had their share of fresh cuts and scrapes by the time they reached the cave entrance, and the replacement clothes they'd replicated upon boarding the _Foxfire _for the trip to Earth now looked as tattered as the ones they'd worn from Earth to Argonia on their initial return.

Hirocon held up hs hand as he neared the mouth, a signal for the children to wait while he checked for dangers. Visibility in the cave was barely ten yards through the gunky rain, and though he sensed no sentient beings, Argonia's predators were fearsome enough before twenty years of radiation exposure. Furthermore, he'd heard enough tales in his brief time among the refugees to know they were only worse for the years since then. _It wouldn't do_, he thought with the barest trace of dark humor,_ to survive all of Zoda's tricks only for us all to be ripped to shreds by some mutant that used to be a Coastal Moblin._

Preparing himself to fight whatever monstrosity the cave vomited forth at his next action, Hirocon fired several 'Psionic Shockwave' blasts into the cave in a wide spread and waited, listening to the piercing reverb of the glowing cerebral energy flares as they dissipated into the darkness. It only took a moment before they were extinguished with a series of soft puffing noises as they impacted the cavern walls, and still Hirocon and the children waited, each of them ready to pour shockwave blasts into whatever emerged from the mouth. But nothing came.

"Well, I guess that means its safe," Impek declared, "if the word 'safe' even has meaning here anymore."

"Safer than staying out here, anyway," Hirocon agreed. "Let's get inside and out from under this rain of gunk."

"Before a stray lightning discharge ignites it all into flame," Rute finished.

As each of the children muttered their own thoughts concerning that possibity, Hirocon led them into the cave. A torrent of smoke poured forth from deeper inside, but this billowed high enough that they were able to walk underneath unhindered.

As they reached the second chamber, Hirocon funneled his hands around his mouth and called out, "Mica," but received no response. _Of course there's not, you old fool, _he chided himself_. There were no sentients here. Remember? She's probably not here yet._ And yet he could feel her presence. Mica was on Argonia, somewhere. Of this he was certain. And if Mica was in danger… _enough of that. We're ALL in danger. _As the echo of his shout diminished, Hirocon led the children deeper into the cave. The smoke, they found out after searching a few of the chambers, came from the makeshift armory of the shelter. Based on the amount of rubble, and the still-smoldering plasma weaponry, Hirocon was only able to surmise that the armory had been hit hard by a hand-thrown explosive of some kind, and the resulting chain reaction destroyed the remaining contents. "Their ability to fight back was devastated, and before they even knew of the threat from the look of it. Most of the weapons are still here."

"That would mean Zoda had an inside man," Daru said, following Hirocon's logic.

"But who would betray other Argonians to Zoda?" Saera asked, hororstricken at the very notion.

"Given Zoda's prowess with psionic suggestion, it could have been anyone." The response came from Rute, who, as always, was attempting to subdue his fear by applying his mind to rational analysis of the group's surroundings.

Hirocon shuddered. _And therein lies the true, all-corrupting horror of Zodanorv Drekmyr: the fact that he can, quite literally, be anyone._ "The smoke should clear up from here on, kids." He hoped the deliberate change of subject would distract the group from dwelling for too long on the far-reaching implications of Rute's observation. "It seems to be mostly blowing toward the entrance."

"True enough," Daru muttered. "But what are we supposed to find here when we do go further?"

"In truth, I don't know." Hirocon turned to look at the faces of the six children as he spoke. "I have no idea, in fact. All I have is an instinct, a feeling of sorts. And I've learned to trust that feeling."

"Forgive me, Sire," Naberra said skeptically. "But your instincts haven't exactly proven to be the best thing for Argonia in the past."

"You're wrong, Naberra," Hirocon answered plainly, turning away from the children and speaking in a manner as if to himself. "My instincts have almost always been right. I've learned this by dealing with the consequences of not following them. And that mistake is one I will not repeat."

* * *

"This is worse than the helicopter ride to C-Island," Mike griped as the Lander lurched back and forth in the turbulence of the electrical storm over Argo City.

Dr. J, the only soul in the craft who could have known what Mike meant, said nothing, nor gave any sign that he heard his nephew. He had his face pressed as close to the transparisteel window as the bouncing motion of the craft's interior would safely allow without the risk of bumping his head, staring with contemptuous worry at the thick black rain falling all around them. Where the droplets fell upon the wings of the craft they did not run off, but rather spread out and clung to it, like a ball of mud dropped onto a hard surface. By pressing the side of his face into the concave of the window and peering backward he was able to occasionally see a red-orange glare. Visibility through the murk was not outstanding, but it appeared to him to be a trail of flaming droplets of the same substance, combusting in their passage through the superheated air of the craft's engine wash.

In the pilot's seat, Fox seemed to have made the same observations. "I don't know what they did to the place," he shouted over the noise made by the shuttle's passage through the storm, "but there's atomized petroleum dust in the water vapor, mixed with what looks like volcanic ash. And now it's raining the stuff."

"But oil and water can't possibly mix like this," Slippy squeaked, aghast.

"You worry about the physics of it if you want, Slip," Fox rebutted. "I'm just telling you what the sensors are telling me."

"Delightful," Krystal snarled in disgust. "We'd better land close to some kind of shelter. We don't want to be out in this for too long."

"There's a cave outside the city," Mica offered. "It's where the survivors were hiding he last time we came here. Let me show you."

Mica rose from her seat and began to slowly make her way to the forward section of the Lander, keeping her hands pressed against the wall for stability. The going was slow, as the floor seemed to never be at the same angle from one moment to the next, and more than once Mike started to leap up to catch her as she seemed about to lose her footing. With difficulty, though, he stopped himself from doing this. _She's here to fight, same as I am. It wouldn't do any good to try and make her feel like she needs me to hold her hand all the way._

"Look along the East Seashore, directly east of the capital," Mica instructed Krystal as she reached the co-pilot's seat and stood over her. "There should be a crescent-shaped cove taking in about half a kilometer between its horns."

Krystal scanned her navigational data for a moment. "I think I have it."

Mica nodded. "Yes, that's the one. On the north side of that there's a low-sloping hill leading up to a magma tube that's been extinct for about six thousand years. That's where the capital survivors have built a kind of shelter."

Mike wrinkled his brow in thought. Somehow, Mica's description of the cave struck a familiar chord to him. _But that's not possible. I've never been to Argonia. Maybe I saw it while I was Reading Mica._ He remained preoccupied with this paradox until the stilling of the craft's movement told him they had landed. Reaching his hand down to trace his fingers along the surprisingly cool metal of the Super Nova coiled about his belt and drawing a certain reassurance from its presence, Mike stood up and made his way toward the exit ramp. The Cornerians, exiting before him with plasma pistols drawn, were quick to establish a defensive perimeter around the entrance. Dr. J, Mike noticed, fell in with this tactic with the greatest of ease. _I guess it's coming back to him,_ Mike allowed himself to chuckle at the thought. Only he and Mica, markedly unschooled in the formal arts of war –and looking quite the part, Mike realized as he and Mica stood surrounded by the outward facing circle of plasma weapons- seemed at a loss for what to do next.

After first noticing this incongruity, the second thing Mike noticed was how quickly the entire group found themselves covered in the grimy ooze raining from the sky. "Eck! Mega gross!" He snarled in protest of the sludge. "Let's get in, quick."

"Good call," Fox shouted over the thunder. "Let's move out."

Scarcely able to see ten yards up the slope they'd landed at the bottom of, the group trudged upward. The surface, already slippery enough from being charred to glass, was made all the more treacherous by a rapidly-thickening coat of the sludge-rain. Still, their footing held, largely due to the simple unwillingness of any of them to allow something like weather, no matter how unnatural, to stop them now. If the realization that each of them was one false step away from a hundred different manners of death at any given time occurred to any of them, none let it show, at least until they reached a small shoulder of flat ground at the rim of the cave mouth. It was there, as he beheld the entrance to the cave shelter, that Mike made his third and most eye-opening realization. "The Temple of Time!" He cried out. "Dudes, a-and dudettes, this is the Temple of Time!"

Mica gasped. "The Temple of Time? This?"

"The who?" Fox asked in confusion.

"The what?" Dr. J asked at the same time.

"I don't care what it is. Let's just get inside of it," Falco said, pushing his way past those who took the time to gawk, stopping only once he was safely underneath the protective ceiling of the cavern. Once he was satisfied that he was under a roof, he began to scrape the rain-sludge off of his feathers and clothing. "I look like a crow," he complained.

The rest of the party followed suit, recovering from the moment of distraction caused by Mike's outburst. The last to enter were Mica -who took a few moments to consider Mike's reaction- and Mike, who entered the cave wide-eyed. I saw this place in my last dream," he murmured for the benefit of any who were paying attention. "This place is the Temple of Time."

"But Mike," Mica argued, "the Temple of Time was in Pan-Hyliocos."

Mike shook his head, still staring at the cavernous interior of the entrance chamber. "No, that was in my dream too. After Argo City was built, the Ministry of State moved some of the key artifacts to a new location just outside of Argo City. It was where Link met Zelda for the last time before he left on the first out-system flight." He finally lowered his eyes to the level of the other members of the group, all of whom were busying themselves with the hasty removal of their coating of black goo by any means available. "That was the flight that took him to the Lylat system, wasn't it?" He asked the Cornerians, already aware of the answer.

"Well, according to the history books," Slippy began to prattle, "the Argonian pioneer ship that came to Lylat eighteen hundred years ago landed on Katina. First Contact between Argonia and Corneria didn't happen until we made our first trip to Katina three hundred years ago, and the Alliance was formed a century after."

"So how did the colonists manage never to find out Link was among them?" Dr. J. asked.

"Because he didn't go to Katina," Krystal answered, catching Mike's attention as she absent-mindedly went on. She was, it seemed, more focussed on her surroundings than on maintaining secrets any longer. "While the pioneer ship landed on Katina, Link sensed a vast intelligence elsewhere in the system, of an older and more powerful race of beings. Using the Triforce of Power, he quietly departed the company of his fellow Argonians and made his way to the planet we now call Sauria. It was there that he made contact with my people's gods, the Ancient Ones."

"Aaah," Fox clasped his hands together, interrupting the scraping of gunk from the legs of his pants to think aloud. "That explains it. That's the missing piece here, the reason you know so much more about what's going on here than anyone else."

Krystal nodded in reply.

"You know, no offense," Falco clipped in a tone that made it clear the words 'no offense' were added merely as a formality, "but that's a little detail that could have been brought to our attention about four weeks ago."

Krystal appeared unshaken by Falco's disapproval. "I didn't realize what was going on until we arrived in orbit of Qay-Dan and we discovered the similarities between their lifeforms and ours. Then when I finally understood, Merlin stopped me from going any further."

"Okay, okay, okay," Falco threw his hands in the air. "Look. Just cut the crap and tell us all what you know before you and that crackpot wizard get us all killed."

As the Star Fox Team seemed ready for another of their infamous arguments, a sighing Mike turned aside to whisper a quip to Mica, only to find that she was no longer standing beside him. After a moment of panic he found her again, standing apart from the group, and approached her. "Hey, Mica," he cautioned. "I don't think-"

"Shh," Mica held up a finger in front of her lips to silence Mike. "Listen."

Mike strained his ears, heard nothing, and shook his head slowly. "For what?"

"Don't you hear that?"

"Yeah. They're arguing, like always."

Mica looked slightly annoyed. "No, no. Listen harder. Don't you hear it?"

Mike stepped closer to Mica and farther from the noise of the group and listened for any other sound, but to his ears there was only silence. "Hear what?"

Mica looked around, staring into the next chamber of the cave and beginning to take a few curious steps in that direction. "I hear music," she said quietly.

"Music?"

"Yes. Music. It sounds like some kind of flute."

Behind him, Mike heard Fox trying to mediate the dispute between Krystal and Falco, his voice being lost amid Falco's shouts about secrets and half-truths and Krystals insistence that she had not lied about anything, but had provided the truth slowly, at a rate the team could cope with. At another time and place, Fox would have let them have it out. But this was not the time or place for a petty argument, here, where death could leap upon them all at a moment's notice in a thousand different forms, any one of which could have been the fate of the cave's occupants.

"Mica," Mike urged, his voice now a hissing whisper. "Get back here. This is no time to be a music critic." It was a futile gesture, and he knew it. Already, Mica was moving into the next chamber of the cave, a fresh resolve seeming to propel her onward as something caught her attention there. Sighing with worry, and cautiously uncoiling the Super Nova, Mike followed her.

When he entered the chamber, Mica was already closely inspecting a hole in what Mike guessed was the east wall, wide enough for two people to step through at a time, leading into another chamber from which an impossible golden glow emerged. The hole appeared to have been made by force, and Mike could see very little good coming from entering. "Mica," he insisted. "Get back here and stay with the group! What are you doing?"

"The sound is coming from in here," Mica stated without looking at him, her voice taking on a detached, distant quality Mike found at once drawing and unnerving.

"Okay," Mike shook himself from a moment of entranced stupor. "So it is. So you've solved your little mystery. Now will you get back here for God's sake?"

"Mike," she finally looked at him, showing him the surety in her eyes that she knew, somehow, on some level neither of them fully perceived, what she was doing. "I think this is important." Her voice was calm, measured, almost ethereal.

Mike locked eyes with her, trying to decide if he believed her. It was clear enough that she felt she was telling the truth, but in this state (whatever state that was), he wasn't sure her feelings could be trusted. It was almost as though she acted on some command only she could hear. _In fact, that doesn't sound too far from what I'd expect. Like she's taking cues from something outside herself. Something's controlling her, at least sort of._ He needed answers, and he wouldn't get them by directly challenging Mica's thinking. Slowly, Mike approached Mica. He walked with a step like one approaching a curious animal, as if a single out-of-place sound or gesture would send her running off. "Mica," he said, opting to keep his voice natural and casual, rather than softening it. "What's in there?"

"I don't know," Mica answered hazily. "The entrance wasn't there before. I think it must have been sealed off for a long time, and collapsed in Zoda's attack." The traces of an enthralled smile formed at the corners of her mouth as she added, "that's why I couldn't hear the song before."

Mike bit his lip, not liking what he was hearing. _If Zoda's attack opened this wall, then whatever's on the other side of it has got to be totally heinous. And the way Mica's acting like she's hypnotized… man, this is bad._ He thought of the rest of the team, silently cursing them for not noticing yet that two of their number were missing. He debated with himself whether or not to call out for them, but he worried about what would happen if he startled Mica in this condition… _whatever condition _that_ is._

And still, something about Mica's words struck a familiar chord with Mike. _A flute, a flute, a flute,_ the words kept repeating in his mind, as if by running them through its corridors enough times he could crack them and extract their secret. _Why does that sound familiar? A flute…_ The answer was just beyond his reach, dancing tantalizingly, tauntingly, a hair's bredth beyond his understanding.

Mica entered the chamber without another word, and Mike followed. It was a small room, with perfectly straight walls (formed out of marble blocks, Mike noticed) and a solidly level floor. From the look of it, the room had been originally constructed in perfect right angles. Years and seismic shifts had taken a clear toll on the architecture, and the blocks now jutted out at almost drunken angles in a few places. The blocks in some of the corners had chaffed against each other with such force that many, stubbornly refusing to crack, had been forced out of their mortar by pressure from the enclosing blocks on both sides. The room's predominant feature, however, was an altar at is center, upon which sat a chest made of something resembling ivory. This seemed to be the source of the glow, although Mike could see no lightsource. "Mica," his voice quavered. "This is too weird."

"It's okay, Mike," Mica responded in that same detached sing-song voice. "I think I know what this is now."

"You do?"

Mica approached the box. "If I'm right about what's in this box…" The statement went unfinished. As Mike uttered a whimper of protest, Mica grasped the sides of the chest with both hands and lifted the hinged top open. As she did, Mike's curiosity won out against his worry, and he stepped beside her to look in on the contents.

The box was empty, save for one small object, roughly the combined size of his two hands. It was seashell-shaped, with six holes carved along one side, revealing that it was hollow. It had one small projection sticking out perpendicular to the line of the holes, and this projection had a seventh hole in its tip. The thing had a faded blue tint, and it reminded Mike of a picture he'd seen in the Music chapter of a Fine Arts Appreciation textbook once. "It looks kind of like a…" he snapped his fingers gropingly, grasping for a forgotten term. "Like one of those flute things…" the word came to him. "An ocarina." The memory finally danced close enough that he could grasp it and pull it to him, a memory of the day Merlin told the Jones men of their ancestry, and of Argonia's history. _An ocarina… _"Mica, is this-?"

"Yes." She picked the instrument up as though it were a newborn, her eyes drinking it up lovingly. She could feel a power she didn't fully understand within the instrument, a power that had lain recalcitrant for untold years. In that moment, she knew instinctively what to do with the unfamiliar instrument.

Play it.

She placed the ancient mouthpiece between her lips, wondering briefly at the giddy warmth that radiated from the relic. The unexplainable glow, which had grown brighter now that the chest was opened, thrummed and throbbed in seeming excietement at being awakened from its multi-millenium slumber. The song she played was a short, slow, haunting melody, a lofty melody that seemed to speak ancient truths to those with ears to hear. A profound awareness of the ancientness of this foreign world seemed to float on the air as she played.

And then, nothing. Even the pulsing light died.

Mike and Mica both looked around the room, laced with an anticipation neither of them could fully explain, as though they expected something miraculous to happen when Mica played the ocarina. "Well," Mica finally broke the crushing silence. "The music stopped." She sounded almost mournful as she said it.

"There you two are!" Dr. J's appearance at the entrance to the chamber startled them back to reality, making them both jump. "What the Hell were you both thinking, wandering away from the rest of the team?"

Before either could answer, Fox appeared at the entrance with Dr. J. "Found 'em. Good." He lowered his pistol (although Dr. J kept his rifle at a ready position, Mike noticed). "Hey guys," he called out over his shoulder. "Over here." As the sounds of the team's scurrying feet made themselves heard, Fox gave a cursory glance around the chamber, wondering after its artificiality. "So, uh, what's this place supposed to be, exactly?" As he asked this, Dr. J was already looking around the room. Mike found himself taking slight comfort from the familiarity of the archaeologist side of his uncle. To him, it was as if he had a handgrip on a piece of sanity in a world that was otherwise spiralling out of its mind.

"I don't remember seeing it before," Mica answered, her eyes still fixed upon the ocarina in her hand. That said, she looked at Mike disappointedly. "Well, I guess nothing happened."

Fox arched his eyebrows. "Was something _supposed_ to happen?"

As Mica groped for a response, Dr. J made his way to the chest, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and began inspecting a series of runic letters carved on the inside of the top. The rest of the team immediately quieted down, having already learned to recognize the 'I'm very very busy' look on his face. Several times during his survey of the runes the archaeologist glanced at the instrument in Mica's hands. At last, there were groans all around when Dr. J. removed his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and placed them back over his eyes.

"What is it, doc?" Mike asked for the group.

Dr. J. didn't look at Mike. Instead, he continued staring at the chest as he parried Mike's question with one of his own. "Mike, do you remember what Merlin said about the first Link."

"Kinda sorta not really. Why?" _A flute… an ocarina… Merlin… the first Link… there's _something_ there. I just don't know what._

"He mentioned that the first Link was sealed away for a time while he grew into manhood, right?"

"Right."

"And he said no one remembered how, but it had to do with an ocarina with some unusual properties."

"Sounds familiar, I-" _An ocarina. This ocarina! _"Dude!"

"Yeah, 'dude' is right," Falco sneered, readying his blaster pistol again, a gesture echoed by the rest of the Cornerians and finally Dr. J.

"Wait, I don't understand." This was Mica.

"It's pretty clear at this point that Zoda and Andross have been here," Fox explained. "And since Mica didn't recognize this chamber, there's a good bet it was the attack that uncovered it. Kind of convenient, isn't it, that Zoda didn't think to take something like this that would have obviously meant something to his cult?"

Mike's blood ran cold at the undertones of that. "Then you're saying he left it here on purpose."

Mica spoke up from there, slowly coming to the same realization. "But that would mean he knew we were going to come here, and…"

"Right," Dr. J completed the sentence, rifle at the ready. "He meant for us to find this thing. We just walked into a trap."

Havoc's Cry_; Near Argonia's Emerald Moon_

The 'conference room' (and Andross found it almost laughable to call it that) of a Cornerian Dreadnought would have been claustrophobic enough without the addition of an overlarge conference table, which, unlike those aboard Venomain Heighliners, could not be retracted into the floor. On top of that, the ceiling (which was as plain and unremarkably silver in color as the floor and all four uncomfortably close walls) was almost half a meter lower than on a Heighliner. Worst of all, there were _absolutely no windows_. As far as Andross could tell, this room explained much about his former empire's crushing success over Corneria. It spoke of poor, abbreviated planning among on-ship commanders. After all, the conference room on a Heighliner was designed to make the officers at the conference feel comfortable, suggesting that they would be there for long hours discussing tactical matters.

_But this place… it's as though it was designed to make officers rush through planning meetings. It confirms what I've always said; that Cornerian Command knows it is my right to rule, and they truly desire to be conquered, to settle under my protective heel. The weak always do, whether they are aware of it or not._

The other two occupants of the conference room, Zoda and Pigma Dengar to name them, could likely not have cared less about Andross' perception of the conference room. Pigma, whose face was barely visible over the mountain of empty plates in front of him, leaned lazily back in his chair, swivelling side to side and occasionally letting out an almighty belch. As disgusted as Andross was with the latter, it did in fact provide the only proof of his continued consciousness. Andross had already ome to the conclusion that the only reason Pigma came to this meeting was for the unlimited access to the replicator tray.

Zoda, sitting opposite Pigma, seemed preoccupied with concerns far outside the scope of the present meeting. In his case, however, food was not the problem. _For that matter, I don't recall ever seeing him eat._ Andross dismissed that thought as being of little consequence. Of more consequence was the fact that Zoda would be of little use to them until he reached some resolution regarding 'the Dragmire situation.'

"I don't understand it," Zoda whispered sorrowfully, his eyes fixed on Pigma. "Why couldn't I restore him? Why can't I? It should have _worked_!" The last was emphasized by Zoda's fist impacting the metal table with such force that, had there been any windows in the conference room (Andross cursed the stupidity of Cornerian engineers once again) they would have rattled. "It worked on Pigma," Zoda spat, rising from his seat and extending his hand demonstratively toward Pigma. "The same technique should have worked with the Ancestor."

_I'd better lay this matter to rest now, so we can get back to the matter of our next move. _"Well, as for that," Andross offered, "I do have a theory."

Zoda laughed. "You? I thought this was… oh, how did you put it? Pseudo-scientiffic, metaphysical claptrap, I think. And now you have insight to offer?"

Andross started to respond with 'seek your own answers then,' but thought better of it. "As a matter of fact, yes. I do."

Zoda's crimson eyes narrowed behind the black glass T-visor of his helmet as he took his seat once again. "Well _this_ promises to intrigue."

Andross rapped his knuckles against the table a few times before beginning, reminding Zoda of a guest lecturer collecting his notes as he did so. "There is a phenomenon called cell-memory, Zoda. Are you familiar with it?"

"Enlighten me."

"There have been cases when transplant recipients have, without explanation, gained glimpses of the memories of the organ's donor. Studies of this have yet to explain how this is possible, but metaphysicists and biologists have widely accepted the theory that a person's memory is somehow stored within the nuclei of cells."

Zoda waved one hand over his head disinterestedly. "Marvelous, Andross. But what does this have to do with Dragmire?"

Andross continued. "When you used your psionic link with Pigma to restore his mind (and quite by accident, if you'll recall), you triggered the cell memory in the few cells that remained of the original Pigma Dengar's body. At least, that's my suspicion."

"All the more reason why the Ancestor should-"

"I'll thank you, Zoda, for allowing me to finish." Zoda gave another narrow-eyed glare, but silenced himself. "As I was saying, The DNA sample on the arrow you provided was incredibly old, measured in centuries I believe you said. That's quite a long time for cellular memory to fade. It is possible that, body or no body, you cannot revive the body's occupant after this much time. At least," he added as a concession to Zoda's faith in his own mysticism, "not through my science."

Pigma, in response, burped. Zoda said nothing, but his eyes widened as if alerted to a distant sound. In fact, this was exactly the case.

"I'm truly sorry, old friend," Andross forced himself to sound sympathetic as he spoke. It was partly true. It saddened him to see Zoda's scheming come to naught. He wanted to see the misguided priest successful. _Oh well, I've suffered setbacks as well._ "Truly, I am. But it seems that without your 'Sages' there is no way to resurrect your ancestor."

"They're there," Zoda answered wistfully.

_Oh, gods. What now?_ "Who is where?"

"The temple, the… the ocarina. I can hear it."

"I don't hear nothin'," Pigma spoke for the first time, offering his sage addition to the conversation.

"You mean that ridiculous pan-flute that was for some reason buried in the Argonian shelter?" Andross was very clearly done attempting to hide his contempt for Zoda's 'hocus-pocus.' "How can you possibly hear it? There's space between us and it, Zoda. Empty space. If you had the knowledge of physics the gods gave to a sandmite-"

"Oh, be still, magister-of-science," Zoda turned his eyes condescendingly toward Andross. "I would have expected you by now to grasp that there is much you don't grasp."

As detestable as he found Zoda's single-minded obsession with the supranatural, Andross was forced to admit Zoda's insight had proven useful on several key occasions. _At least, it did twenty years ago. But of late…_ The ape sighed. "Say what you have to say, Priest."

Zoda grunted approvingly. "What I have to say is simple. You were right. They did indeed plan to return to Argonia. In fact, they're there right now, in the ocarina chamber."

"How in the Nine Hells can you possibly-"

"_This_ is how, scientist," Zoda held up his fist, upon which the mark of the Triforce of Wisdom thrummed with an unusually garish light. "With this, I can hear the song of the ocarina, and it was played only moments ago. The only way that song would have carried across space to call to this relic would be if a descendant of Zelda were the one playing it. I tell you, Doctor, the princess is there. The princess or her father, one. Either way, it means those we seek have returned to Argonia, and the time for the confrontation is now."

"So let me get this straight," Pigma found his tongue once more. "The little golden pyramid thingy you got in your hand tells you when one o' Zelda's descendants plays that flute thing ya left back in the cave?"

"Precisely," Zoda answered simply.

"And she's playing it now?"

"That also is correct."

"So… one o' the Argonian royals that was travellin' with Fox is down there, and that means Fox is too?"

Zoda leaned confidently back in his chair. "You're a discerning man, Pigma," he spoke with a degree of sarcasm detectable only to Andross.

"Well what're we waitin' for? Get me to my ship and let's go!" Without another word Pigma propelled himself through the conference room door with a speed Zoda would have thought impossible for one of his bulk en route to the hangar.

Andross watched Pigma go, then returned his attention to Zoda, who –Andross guessed- was now grinning quite smugly behind that insufferably gaudy helmet. "Are you certain of this, Zoda?" His voice had the tone of a rational thinker offering a last line of skeptical defense before yielding to sheer morbid curiosity.

"Unequivocally."

Andross growl-sighed. "I'm going to regret this. Of that, I'm the unequivocally certain one." With a shake of his shaggy head, he tapped the button to turn on the ship's intercom. "Bridge, set course for the planet, cruising speed."

Foxfire _Bridge; In Orbit of Argonia_

Something was out of place, and Peppy knew it.

When the Lander took off, Peppy didn't worry overmuch. There was danger, true enough, but this was unavoidable. _And besides, we're mercs. Danger's nothing new._ But his sense of the danger multiplied exponentially when the Lander fell below the cloudline. That was when Peppy –and the ship's sensors- lost track of the Lander.

And picked up the _Havoc's Cry_.

The Dreadnought was in a low orbit over the so-called 'Emerald Moon' of Argonia, and Peppy would not have noticed it had his gaze not carelessly wandered there. As it was, he had barely enough time to withdraw the ship to a point from which he could watch the moon over the planet's horizon-line and thus keep tabs on the _Cry_ with passive sensors. This seemed to have prevented the Dreadnought from detecting the much smaller _Enforcer_-class ship, at least so far, and Peppy felt certain he could keep it that way, as long as the _Havoc's Cry_ stayed where it was. The difficulty would not arise until the Lander returned from the surface to find its mothership missing. After that, all Peppy could do was pray that the _Cry_'s orbit took it to the other side of the moon, and that would not happen for another six hours at its present speed. But one question was, to Peppy's mind, of far more pressing importance. Why was a Cornerian Dreadnought hiding? What did Zoda and Andross think they needed to hide from? Only one answer came to Peppy, and it wasn't a pleasant one.

They were hiding for the same reason a spider hides on the outskirts of its web. To wait for its prey to fly in and become entangled. _This is a trap._ Hours ticked by, while this knowledge gnawed at the back corners of Peppy's consciousness like some kind of leech, feeding off of his panic. With each passing minute he could feel the jaws of some unseen, seemingly inescapable fate close around him, with the hapless landing party waiting to be wolfed down as a chaser. He found the effect maddening. Then, something happened that made the panic-leech at the back of his mind gorge itself on a heartier helping.

The _Havoc's Cry_ broke away from the moon and entered orbit of Argonia. The fly, it seemed, was caught in the web. A momentary glance at the _Cry_'s orbit confirmed Peppy's worry. It was orbitting directly over the site where the Lander had entered the atmosphere. As suicidal as it seemed, Peppy had only one course of action. Stall them. Buy the team some time. With that in mind, Peppy moved the _Foxfire_ over the planet's horizon-line and into full view of the dreadnought. The larger vessel took no more notice of Peppy's advance then Peppy would have taken notice of the buzzing of a mosquito. _Well,_ Peppy thought as he clutched the ship's helm controls more tightly and keyed in the buttons to begin a radio transmission, _I guess I'll have to make myself a juicier target._ "This is Peppy Hare of Star Fox," he announced defiantly into the speaker. "Leave the system immediately, and we'll let you live to see another day." To emphasize the point, he energized the vessel's three anti-aircraft guns, forcing himself not to dwell on how little good they were likely to do against a Dreadnought's neutronium armor. Whether it was to the threat, or the laughable display of force, the Dreadnought finally gave a response, though it was not the response Peppy expected. Rather, a single fighter-sized craft appeared on Peppy's radar display as it emerged from the Dreadnought's hangar. _One fighter? That's it? Come on. I may be old, but I deserve at least-_

That thought was interrupted by a voice over the radio. It was sick-sounding, squealing voice: a voice out of Peppy's past, which might just as well have been vomited forth from Hell itself. "Peppy… long time no see."

_New Argo City ruins, Argonia_

"Okay, so it's a trap," Mike observed calmly. "So now what?"

"I say we beat feet back to the Lander and book it back to the _Foxfire_," Falco suggested. "We'll do better in the air."

Mike came back with, "Yeah. Easy for a bird to say. Some of us aren't exactly flying aces."

"More to the point," Krystal added, "They'll be expecting us to return to the air."

"Which means they'll have about a squillion fighters up there waiting, which means Peppy's in trouble, which means we have to go help him out, trap or no trap," Fox furthered.

"But what help do you intend to be in that Lander?" Reality intruded by way of Dr. J. "It's not exactly one of your X-Wings."

"Arwings," Slippy corrected. "And we can't stand around here second and third guessing what we think they'll think we've thought of. Whatever we're going to do, we need to do it."

The next sentence to come from Mica's mouth seemed blasphemous to Falco and, in part, to Fox. "I agree with Slippy."

"As am I," Krystal said quickly. "We need to act, and quickly. Go, or stay?"

All eyes turned to Fox, who once again found himself saddled with making the team's decisions. _Why did I have to be born the son of James McCloud,_ the thought intruded at the rear of his mind. But, as was usually the case in situations that prompted this question, there was no time to answer it. A more important question needed an answer, and that answer was, "Go. We're no good down here. Besides, we came here to make contact with the survivors, and we're the only ones here. It's time to go."

"You're right about it being time to go," all seven spun toward the chamber entrance at the sound of a new voice before Mica recognized it with a start. "But as for being the only ones here, I beg to differ." As the others caught up with Mica's realization they each lowered their weapons, and Mike stared, dumbfounded. Only Mica seemed to find her voice.

"Father?"

Hirocon Argo stepped into the chamber, followed (to Fox's chagrin) by the Sages' descendants, each of whom wore their own mix of surprise, relief, and exultation on their faces at the sight of their princess. The exception was Hirocon himself, whose countenance was that of a father agrieved by his own folly. When he spoke his daughter's name, tears broke through the last levy of the Regent's stoic façade. "Mica…" A lengthy and heartfelt attempt to put into words the blended remorse, determination, fear and, at last, absolution Hirocon felt was lost as Mica ran toward her father and threw her arms around him in a tight hug, matching his tears with her own.

Mike, not as eager to forgive Mica's father as Mica herself seemed, started to step forward only to be stopped by Dr. J, clutching him by the arm and shaking his head silently. _This is what I told you I was hoping for,_ the scientist communicated with a look as the Sages' descendants moved from standing behind Hirocon to standing behind Mica, making clear (whether deliberately or unconsciously) that the torch of leadership, as far as they were concerned, had passed.

Fox, and his team with him, saw the appearance of the Regent and the children in a different light. _This is taking too much time,_ the thought blitzed through their minds. A legion of other doubts followed, among them _the children will just slow us down,_ and _we don't have time for any more of Hirocon's waffling._ Of the Cornerians, it seemed that only Krystal found Hirocon's appearance to be a pleasant one. And yet, Fox noted, there was also sorrow on her face. Not the annoyance the rest of them felt at the unwanted presence of a man they considered a liability, but genuine sorrow. It would occur to Fox years later, looking at the moment in retrospect, that Krystal knew-without-knowing, in that prescient way her people's gift sometimes allowed, just how important it was that Father and daughter mend the rift between them at that very moment.

The sound of metal impacting on metal in the larger antechamber outside drew the assembly's attention once more to the chamber entrance. Once, twice, three times, in a rhythm like the swaying of the pendulum on a grandfather clock whose gears have wound down and which no longer keeps true time but its own deathly pace, the sound came. Again, and again, and again it came, drawing closer with each sounding. The unabating, nauseating rhythm made them all want to scream in rage, if for no other reason than to drown it out. The Argonians, their extrasensoral awareness being the most heightened, became aware of the reason for the group's natural revulsion at the sound moments before anyone else. But then, as if a concession to those in the group without psionic senses, the source of the sound showed itself at the chamber entrance.

Zodanorv Drekmyr, the nightmare-made-flesh, stood before them, clapping his metal-gauntletted hands like a drama critic moved by a prticularly touching scene. Flanking him were two green-armored Dragmirian Troopers ("robots" Mike still thought, having battled their kind on Zoda's ship). Finally, behind him stood a figure that looked to Dr. J like a ludicrous extra from _Planet of the Apes_, a bipedal Cornerian Simian wearing a white garment that could have been either a lab coat or an emperor's robe. Though the Star Fox Team had not seen the Venomian dictator in years, and even then not in his natural form, they recognized their race's most basic devil as easily as the Argonians recognized theirs. This was Dr. Andross Oikinny. The Cornerians had time to raise their pistols and almost to aim before Andross, tapping into his own rudimentary psionic abilities, flung the weapons from their hands and against the chamber's far wall with such force that they shattered.

"By the Ancestor," Zoda practically crooned as he spoke, ceasing his incessant clapping and crossing his arms in his characteristic stance of arrogant disinterest. "A marvelous performance, if ever there was one. Happy reunions do seem the order of the day. Wouldn't you say?" He asked, turning to Andross.

Andross grinned, a contorted parody of a grin, baring his abominable incisors. "So it would seem, my friend. So it would seem."

Zoda, making a great show of savoring this moment, returned his eyes to the gathering before him, this time settling them on Mike and Dr. J. "Ah, and of course the men of the noble House of Jones. I must confess, I find myself wondering whether I should say 'we meet again,' or 'we meet at last.'"

Dr. Jones, able to stomach no more of Zoda's trite mockeries of pleasantry, took aim with his rifle a split second too late, and Zoda made a barely noticeable gesture with one hand. Had it not been for the timing of the gesture, it would have seemed little more than brushing aside his cloak. As he moved, however, the rifle in Dr. J's hands began to glow white-hot. The nerves in the doctor's hands barely had time to tell his brain to drop the rifle before it dissolved, leaving a pile of molten titanium at his feet.

"Spare me your paltry attempts at resistance if you would, doctor," Zoda said boredly. "I've developed something of a distaste for such mundanity. And Mike, as for that… what did you call it… Super Nova, I think, that you've been snaking your hand towards, that would be unwise as well."

"Sue me," Mike sneered, drawing the Super Nova in an instant.

Zoda gave his best approximation of a disappointed sigh before glancing at Andross, who looked at him with an expression of the same manner. "Well, Zoda," Andross spoke like a parent who had hoped not to have to discipline an unruly child. "It seems a painful lesson in respect is in order."

"Respect this!" Mica screamed, and she and the six children loosed Psionic Shockwaves at Zoda. Hirocon and Mike follwoed suit, the lattter charging at Zoda and preparing to swing the Super Nova at his head. Zoda's eyes widened for a brief moment, then narrowed in disgust as he deflected the energy orbs with one swing of his armored hand. Mike, expecting Zoda to have been thrown off-balance enough for him to buffet him with the cruel cudgel of the mace recalled a moment too late that Zoda was not alone. As the Dragmirian Troopers flanking their High Priest took aim and fired, Mike was barely able to drop into a base-runner's slide underneath their target zone. This, unfortunately, left him prone at the feet of Andross, who hoisted him telekinetically to a standing posture, suspended a few inches above the ground, before pummeling a massive fist into his sternum, followed by another to his abdomen. Mike forced himself to restrain his reflex to let go of the Super Nova, but was unable to keep from doubling over from the blow to his gut, and Andross's knee met the Terran's face, breaking his nose and covering his eyes in blood. The last kept him from seeing the quickly approaching rear wall as Andross tossed him aside. Mike's ears, however, were still working perfectly, and he winced less at the pain than at the sickening 'crack' his head made as it came in contact with the bricks.

And so the chamber became a battleground. As the Argonians matched their psionic might against Zoda, Dr. J drew the pistol that he once kept under the desk in his lab and emptied the magazine into the two Dragmirian Troopers, whose armor barely protected them from the hail of projectiles. The Cornerians, now unarmed, took whatever cover they could find and frantically searched for a way to turn the tide of an increasingly un-promising scenario. The exception was Krystal, who braved the chaos long enough to reach Mike, channeling her meager psychic powers into healing his wounds.

With Krystal's help, Mike's vision began to return, and his head cleared enough that he was able to look around. The Super Nova was still clutched tightly in his left fist, and the cudgel had missed his head by mere inches as he and it both ricocheted off the wall and onto the floor. The room itself was a demonic light show of Psionic Shockwaves and psychic barriers being fired and deflected in a thousand directions. _It's like the pinball wizard goes to Hell_, Mike thought as he pulled himself up to his hands and knees long enough to crawl to the altar which held the chest and duck behind it, with Krystal helping him along.

"So tell me," Mike wheezed. "At exactly what point did this day get completely shot to Hell and back?"

To answer that question, Krystal would have had to acquaint Mike with the prehistory of three different worlds, and there was no time. "We have to make a way for everyone to get out of here, Mike. If we can get to our Arwings we can handle Andross and leave Zoda to you, but like this…"

"Yeah. We look like a Little League team at the World Series," Mike agreed. Krystal had no way of understanding what these phrases meant, but she picked up on Mike's meaning. "We've got to get them away from that entrance so we can get past them."

"Exactly. The question is how?"

"I hoped you would have some idea."

"Mike, fighting in caves is _your_ area of expertise, not ours"

Mike glowered at Krystal for an instant, then poked his head out from behind the altar. Dr. J had quickly expended his supply of bullets, and Mike looked just in time to witness him throwing the now useless gun at one of the Dragmirians, hitting him squarely in the face. The Trooper, more annoyed then injured, raised his own laser rifle once more, but by this time Dr. J had fallen back to stand with the Argonians.

Of the Argonians themselves, it seemed that Hirocon's energy was spent on erecting what looked like a forcefield of some kind to protect them from an endless barrage of an all-too-familiar dark purple radiance from Zoda. Mike had seen something like it from the Zodas he had battled, and he felt sure the genuine article could only be stronger. He had no way of knowing this, but it was this same power that had reduced a Cornerian bridge crew to free-floating atoms some time prior. From beind this, Mica and the children (all the way down to Saera) let fly all the Shockwaves they could muster. Judging by the way that Zoda absent-mindedly batted some away with his hand while completely ignoring those too weak to harm him, this wasn't much. The peculiar aspect of the situation, it seemed to Mike, was Andross. With the Star Fox Team for all intents and purposes incapacitated, he would have expected the Ape to bear down on them with the same psionic power he so readily demonstrated on Mike. Instead, Oikinny was looking around the room, appearing to gauge distances with his eyes. It seemed he was trying to decide if the room was big enough. _Big enough for what?_ But Mike dismissed that question, partly because he was afraid to find out and partly because it ddn't matter. After all, every pitcher knew that if you catch the batter looking away, you don't ask why. You just pitch, right then. And so, pitch he did.

Mike, his knack for telekinesis as yet unrefined, had a moment of difficulty getting the massive stone chest on the altar to rise from its perch. This, though, lasted only a moment, and in the next, it was hurtling through the air toward Andross. _From the look on his face, you'd almost think that in a room full of psychics armed with state-of-the-art weaponry, a box wasn't the weapon he expected._ Mike watched Andross stare stupidly at the oncoming box for what Mike found to be a supremely satisfying moment before both it and Andross tumbled out into the larger chamber outside.

Zoda, having seemingly failed to realize that Andross had not killed Mike, turned in time to see Mike's Venomian jack-in-the-box expelled from the chamber, and the Argonians took this moment to switch from forcefields to force. The result was a set of eight simultaneous Psionic Shockwaves barreling into the side of Zoda's head, sending him spinning through the air for several seconds before he landed in a crumpled heap next to Andross. Mike took this opportunity to charge the Dragmirians, swinging the Super Nova viciously into the sides of both their heads with one swing and knocking their cybernetic heads from their shoulders.

_No, knocking off their helmets. Helmets? There are PEOPLE inside those things?!_ Having expected the 'robots' to explode like the ones on the ship orbitting Earth had done, Mike gawked as the Dragmirians picked themselves groggily up off of the ground and glared back at him with murder in their eyes, eyes which were undeniably humanoid…

…and which Mike recognized, from his time Reading Mica. "Delvan," he mouthed unbelievingly, "and Krin?"

The one Mike recognized as Moraigne Delvan turned his/its maddened face toward Mica in time to catch the moment of recognition. "Hello, _etanni_," he/it said in a voice that dripped with the sick malice of Zoda. Mike didn't need to look at Mica's reaction to know there could only be one answer to that. What was left of Delvan had to go where the rest of him had already gone. Hirocon, sparing Mike the effort, saw to that with a casual thought, and both the Dragmirians died from a cerebral blast from the Regent.

_Well that takes care of the red-shirted-extras_, Mike thought, then spoke to the group. "If we're gonna go, let's go!" Most of them needed no further prompting. The chamber entrance was moments later awash with the stampeding feet of Cornerians and Argonians. The only one not to move, Mike realized as he was about to follow, was Mica, who staggered for a moment and fell. To be fair, Mike would reflect later, she had just watched her father kill her ex-fiancee who had, in turn, been trying to kill her. But now was not the time for mourning, nor reflection. "Mica," Mike called back.

"I'm coming," Mica said quickly, picking herself up and shaking off the tropical cyclone of tangled sensations about to make landfall in her head.

And they ran, for the cave entrance and the Lander.

They almost made it, too.

In the entrance chamber, Zoda and Andross caught up with them, and a wall of pure psionic force, so potent its targets could feel the crushing hate of the two who drove it, fell upon them all, stopping them like a net.

"The one who moves first," Andross shouted, "dies first!"

Against all logic, Mike thought of some of the cartoons he had seen as a small child, cartoons in which a drill sergeant, or Canadian Mounty commander or something of the sort would turn his back on a group of recruits and command all volunteers for a dangerous mission to take one step forward, and every recruit except the hero would take a step back. In spite of himself, he found himself galncing back and forth to make sure the rest of the group had not taken a step backward. Apparently, they had remained exactly where they were. _Dude, they really are heroes. They stand around and watch when everyone else runs, just like real heroes do in all the movies._

"This has gone on too long," Zoda insisted with blended weariness and rage. "Twenty years too long, and it ends today!" He surveyed the Argonians with the triumph of a predator, roaring over his kill as he prepared to feast. "The time of the Sages is at an end. Today shall dawn the age of Dragmire."

"Perhaps we should spare the theatrics and just get on with this," Andross cautioned.

"I intend to do just that," Zoda assured, taking a final sweeping glance over his prey, poised halfway between waiting for a chance to strike and cowering from the fear that one would not come. So confident was he that he had finally won, that his quarry had no power left to resist, that he didn't percieve Hirocon's simple, telepathic message to those gathered around him.

**_Run. I'll hold them off._**

Andross, however, was aware of it. He did not hear the message, but he was attuned enough to his surroundings to know he had missed something. A look passed between the Alliance Remnant, nods were exchanged, there was a general air of mischief. _They're up to something,_ the Ape knew, and his inert psionic strength began to rise in preparation. He glanced once at Zoda, and saw only the same fanatical self-assurance. Zoda, it seemed, believed he was seeing the inevitable come to pass, and was blind to fate's plans to the contrary.

Andross and Zoda both realized at the same time just what it was that Andross had missed, as Hirocon's body began to glow for a single moment with a perceptible aura. "Now!" The Regent barked. In the next moment, several things happened simultaneously. Hirocon unleashed that aura in a wave, the others ran for the entrance, and Andross brought his own power to bear in an effort to stave off Hirocon's assault, and Zoda called upon the power of the Triforce of Courage to shield him. Though Andross managed to keep from being ripped apart by the force of the Regent's Will, Zoda was a moment too late to react, and only his own psionic mind, enhanced by the Triforce of Wisdom, saved his body from disintegrating.**_ BEGONE!_** The Regent screamed into their minds, the unspoken sound ringing within their heads like ten thousand thunderstorms. **_YOU WILL NOT HARM THEM!_** Andross, more accustomed to fighting in space than against an enemy like this, began to stagger drunkenly about in semiconsciousness. But there was Zoda to contend with, and Zoda had the 'Resonator,' the Triforce of Wisdom.

_I know that voice,_ Zoda swore as he recovered from Hirocon's attack enough to erect his own defenses, _And not just because it's Hirocon's. That's the voice the Ancestor warned of, the voice of Link! Hyru-Kahn wasn't just a child of the Sages, he was the merging of two Triforce Bearer Bloodlines! By the Ancestor, this changes everything!_

* * *

When Zoda and Andross came to the planet's surface they came by teleportation and not by ship, and Fox was grateful for that. If they had come by ship, they would have been unable to keep from seeing the Lander (even through the gunk-rain), and would probably have reduced it to scrap, stranding the team down here. As it was, Hirocon's diversion bouth the team time enough (he hoped) to power up the Lander's engines and return to the Foxfire, where they would contend with whatever was waiting for them up there the way they always had been: in Arwings.

As Falco's cries of 'come on, move it! Move!' reminded the children (if they needed reminding) to hurry and board the Lander, Fox and Krystal began the startup sequence. Slippy and Dr. J, for want of anything better to do, began hurriedly seating the Argonians in the Lander's passenger bay in an attempt to make room for fifteen in a Lander made for no more than ten, crew included. While Mike stood guard at the entry ramp, Mica hurried to stand beside Fox as the craft began to lift off.

"What about my father?"

"We'll wait as long as we can afford to," Fox answered, "but that isn't very long."

"We can't leave him stranded here. He'll be killed."

Fox didn't say it, but he had the impression Hirocon had known that, and had also known that the Lander could not afford to wait. The tone of Mica's voice told him that this would not be the time to try and explain that, however, so he simpley repeated his earlier assurances. "We'll wait as long as we can afford to."

Mica nodded, and moved back to the entrance ramp to stand guard with Mike. "Get ready. When he comes out of that cave, they'll probably both be right behind him. He'll need some cover."

Mike said nothing. He simply looked at Mica with a look she was beginning to resent. It was the same look she'd gotten from Fox.

* * *

A steel-fisted hammer-punch from Zoda missed Hirocon's right temple by some twenty feet, but Hirocon reeled from the telekinetic blow as if it had connected. Hirocon regained his feet quickly and prepared to continue his assault, but Zoda was no longer there. He reappeared a moment later, surrounded by the illusion of jets of flame from the ground, within arm's length of Hirocon. The kick to Hirocon's groin that followed, however, was no illusion, and as Hirocon doubled over on reflex, Zoda laced his fingers into a double-fist above Hirocon's head and slammed both gauntlets into the base of the Regent's neck. Or rather, where the base of the Regent's neck had been a moment before.

But teleportation was not a unique trick among psionics, and Zoda did not turn around quickly enough to keep Hirocon from slipping his arms under Zoda's arms and back behind his neck, pinning him in what Mike would have called a 'Full-Nelson.' For his efforts, Hirocon was rewarded with a blow to his face from the back of Zoda's duranium helmet, then another when this failed to dislodge him. "Rather vulgar, isn't it?" Zoda snarled as Hirocon staggered backward, giving the Priest time to turn and face him. "Here stand the two most powerful psionics on Argonia, locked in mortal combat, and we resort to petty physical blows.

Hirocon wiped his bleeding face on his sleeve and stared back at Zoda across the space that now stood between them. "Somehow, it just feels better to kill you with my bare hands."

At this, Zoda laughed, but it was not a derisive laugh. It was, Hirocon realized with an inward shudder, a laugh of approval. "Does it now? There may be hope for you yet, old man. It's such a shame you only realize this at the end. You could have made one hell of a Priest."

As one, the two combatansts began to sidestep, circling each other slowly. "Maybe," Hirocon returned Zoda's remark. "But I'd rather kill Hell's Priest than be one hell of a Priest."

"So what's it to be now, Hero's Glory, Son of Link and of Zelda?" Zoda asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Andross beginning to regain his senses and stand, and he hoped to keep Hirocon focussed on him long enough for the Ape to strike. "Do we fight until we've killed each other? Two of the only nine Argonians left alive? To kill off one Triforce Bearer bloodline while another intermingles for the second time with the blood of Terrans?"

_Father,_ Mica called out to Hirocon. **_We're ready. Hurry!_**

Hirocon, however, was not the only one who heard Mica's urging. "Oh, don't tell me," Zoda shook his head disappointedly. "You're going to run, _again_. Well go ahead, Regent, because when you do, I'll follow you straight to them and rip them apart." By this time, Andross was creeping up behind Hirocon, a vicious-looking parody of a surgical scalpel clutched in his right hand.

_It's true. For once in his damnable existence, Zodanorv Drekmyr is telling the truth. I can't escape this. Even if I kill Zoda, that Cornerian will finish me off._ "Well," Hirocon said flatly, "I guess that only leaves one option."

"Oh really?" Zoda's eyes darted (a bit more perceptibly than he'd intended) over Hirocon's shoulder to Andross, now close enough that he was raising the blade and preparing to strike. "And what option would that be, Regent?"

There was a fire in Hirocon's voice that caused both Zoda and Andross to freeze when he answered. "To die on my own terms." As Zoda puzzled over this riddle, his senses stretched out toward Hirocon and immediately recoiled, telling the rest of him to do so quickly. The same aura that Hirocon had used to shield himself and the children from Zoda's wrath, to cover their flight, and to bombard Zoda and Andross with, now flowed like the swelling of the tide within him, eager to be unleashed.

"Kill him!" Zoda screamed to Andross. "Kill him now!" And Andross tensed his arm and prepared to to strike. He never got the chance.

**_Go_**, Hirocon called to his daughter. **_Go, and live. Forgive me._**

* * *

"Father?"

Mike jerked his head toward Mica to find a look of mixed realization and horror fixed upon her face.

"Father! No!" She screamed, and looked as if she were about to bolt down the ramp and back toward the cave. Mike moved to stop her, but before either of them could move more than a step the cave entrance came alive with a blinding luminesence which carried with it the agonized screams of Zoda and Andross.

**_Protect her, Son of Link,_** Hirocon's last message reached Mike's mind, carried upon that same blast of force. **_Protect her, as your forefather protected Zelda._**

I will, Mike answered, aware that Hirocon could no longer hear him. Without another word Miek grabbed Mica, ducked inside the Lander, and signalled for Fox to raise the ramp and seal the airdoors.

"Y'don't have to tell me twice," Fox assured Mike. He keyed the sequence to seal the craft, following up with the liftoff sequence before that was even complete.

Mica's last view before the craft became spaceworthy again was of the glow fading from the entrance far below, and two figures limping out of it: Zoda and Andross. With a defeated cry, she fell to her knees. "Father," the word came out as a choked, coughing sob. The Argonians, likewise, began to sob, finally grasping the significance of their leader's actions. Even Mike felt tears begin to dampen anew the dried bloodstains on his face. Amid it all, the only eyes to remain dry were those of the Cornerians and Dr. J, and it was the latter who spoke first.

"Mica," he said in his most soothingly paternal voice, "I know you don't want to hear this right now, but-"

"Please," Mica cut him off with a raised hand. "Please, Doctor, you're right. I don't." Rising to her feet she looked around at the Argonians, and each one in turn wiped their eyes and looked back at her. _At the new Regess of Argonia,_ she thought bitterly. "I don't want to hear anything right now. Let's just get to the ship, and do what we have to do."

Dr. J. nodded, and, with an appraising glance at Mike, withdrew to the front of the craft to discuss the team's next move with Fox. He had done what he was able to do. The Argonians, or Mica, at least, understood that there would be time to mourn Hirocon's sacrifice later.

For now, they were not out of danger. Not by any means.


	13. Chapter 13: Not Here, Not Now

Chapter Thirteen: Not Here, Not Now

_When one looks at the Vanguard War from a historical perspective, any attempt to try and pin down the starting date quickly shows itself to be a futile endeavor. Many of the factions that made up the two warring alliances were engaged in prior wars against each other. Then, too, there is the matter of the various points in time whence came the members of both the Vanguard and the League of the Dark Hand to consider, making a literal timeline obsolete. It could be argued that the solution is to start at the various temporal vergences that caused the warring factions to come into contact and count backward, assuming that the skirmish to occur farthest back was the outbreak of the war. Most historians, however, will agree that this is not a valid method, since the Vanguard War was not the same war after the Time of the Junction that it was before. Thus arises the question before us today: who drew first blood in the Vanguard War, and when? It is an ambitious question, to be sure. The historians of three worlds across thousands of years failed to answer it. Of the Ancient Ones (for that is what your colloquially named 'Star Spirits' truly are), only one remains who knows the answer, and his answer points farther back than the Historical Society would care to look, but I digress. Though it would seem we are in the best position of all time to answer this riddle, with both the Time of the Junction and the Rise of the Dark Lord having occurred within the lifetimes of many of those assembled here, the answer is still open to a great deal of speculation and interpretation. However, there is one thing on which all credible historians agree, and that is the earliest recorded allied conflict. By this I mean the earliest recorded conflict between the group that would become the Vanguard and the group that would become the League- a fight also notable for being the first to encompass combatants from all three worlds involved in the war, as well as the final Calling Away, if one discounts the summoning of the Triforce Bearers several months into the war- took place on this date in 1990, Earth Reckoning, on the surface of Argonia._

_Merlin Ambrosius, speaking at a historical seminar at the University of Easton  
__October 27, 3155 (Earth Reckoning)_

_October 27, 1990_

_Temple of Time; Argo City, Argonia_

Zoda stood staring into the oily black sky until the pale orange comet-tail of the Cornerian Lander's engine wash vanished into the cloud-soup, clenching his gauntletted fists in rage as the gunk-rain slicked off of his armored shoulder plates. At another time he could have simply donned another form and ripped the craft out of the sky with a great claw, or blasted it apart with the sheer intensity of that same alterego's bestial stare. But Hirocon's self-sacrificing attack had left him barely able to stand. And psionic combat? That would have been a joke. He was as ready for that as Mike had been after his near-miss with Zoda V. Andross would be of little help either, from the look of it. The Venomian's eyes rolled perilously back into his head, leaving the now-reddened whites exposed. It seemed to Zoda his ability to stagger out of the cave was not a matter of conscious thought but simply his body's unwillingness to tolerate any more of what was happening to his mind. He would recover, surely, but Zoda didn't have tme to wait.

"Come on, you filthy ape," he glowered at Andross, stretching his remaining awareness out toward the scientist. "Collect yourself! We have work to do."

"Work," Andross droned, reminding Zoda of a child attempting to imitate its parents' speech. "Work… to… do…"

_Blast it, I need this drooling moron._ Zoda reached his hand toward Andross, physically touching his head this time, and channelled as much of his consciousness as he dared into him. _This is closer to rewriting him than I'd like, but I'll deal with the consequences of that later._ "Andross, there's no time for you to have a psychileptic lapse. I need you in the here, and in the now!"

Slowly, like the melting of pack-ice in the spring thaw, cracks began to form in the duldrums of Andross's psyche. It seemed to Zoda an eternity, but in a matter of minutes he was coherent again, shaking his head as if to clear a hangover. "They've escaped, then." It was not a question, but a resigned admision of seeming fact.

"No," Zoda corrected. "But they're escaping right now. To their ship, to be speciffic. Now we can still carve a victory out of this, if you're up to the task."

Andross gave his head another 'self, snap out of it' shake. "Yes… yes. I'm up to it. And Zoda…"

"Hmm?"

"The next time the words 'filthy ape' cross your lips in my direction, you will spend your remaining days as a gibbering, vegetative victim of Suarian Cerebral Worms, with Spine Mites and radiation sickness for added measure."

"A pleasure to find you have rejoined the living, Old Friend. Let's go." There was a flicker of light, and the two of them vanished.

Foxfire_,_ _Bridge; In Orbit of Argonia_

Another explosion rocked the bridge, and Peppy held his footing. "Warning," the ship's computer offered in its mockingly pleasant tone. "Shield strength down to-"

"Just shut the Hell up! I know!" Peppy screamed through the cacophony of sparks and warning alarms fighting to be heard over each other. The computer spoke one more time, it's motherly voice assuring him that it was 'terminating voice warnings,' and Peppy thanked the gods for at least that small favor. Then, of course, there was the little matter of the fighter harrying the ship, and the hideous inability of the ship's anti-aircraft cannons to keep up with it. _Might just as well get out there in an EVA suit and throw rocks for all the good they're doing. _

"James went like this too, y'know," Pigma told Peppy over the ship-to-ship radio. "Ship explodin' around him, shootin' at nothin'. Only he died in the cockpit of a real man's ship, and not on the bridge of a flyin' cinderblock like some academy-fresh Fleet-boy."

_He's as bad as the damn computer,_ Peppy ground his teeth as he attempted to triangulate another shot with the ship's three cannons. Pigma's ship was moving too quickly though, and whatever idiot designed the ship seemed to labor under the delusion that enemies only attacked from the front, if the fire-arc was any indication. As Peppy expected, the shot missed. _Yeah it missed, by about half a parsec. This isn't working._

"Oh, man," Pigma squealed sympathetically. "Losin' your edge, eh Peppy old pal? Don't worry. I'll make this quick, so you don't have to dwell on an embarassing miss like that."

Another barrage of laser fire cut surgically into the _Foxfire_'s dorsal section, and this time Pigma's weapons found their mark.

"Warning," the ship's computer seemingly forgot its promise to keep quiet. "Reactor coolant tank one has been breached. Matter-antimatter meltdown probability is now forty-five percent."

"Lander one to _Foxfire_," Fox's voice joined the radio chorus.

Peppy leaped from the weapons console to the radio. "Fox! Be careful. Pigma's all over me."

There was a growling sound from the speaker, and then, "just keep him off the Lander long enough for us to get to the hangar bay. Once we're in Arwings, we'll take him."

"We've got another problem," Peppy said quickly. "He ruptured one of the coolant tanks to the reactor. If he hits the other…"

"Then don't let him," Fox solved Peppy's dillemma. "We're coming in."

* * *

Mike's eyes were quick to take in the scene of Peppy and Pigma's battle, and his mind (drawing on movies like _Star Wars_ and_ The Last Starfighter_) immediately arrived at a conclusion: not good. "So… what are we going to do?"

"We?" Fox looked at him over his shoulder. "Well first off, kid, _you_ are going to get the Hell out of the cockpit so I can fly, and _we_," he inclined his head toward the Cornerians, "are going to get ready to wing up and blast this bastard back to-" The entire party screamed as a geyser of plasma erupted across the window. Had the Lander been a few meters forward, they would have been caught in that blast. "_Havoc's Cry_ is shooting at us then. Lovely. Umm, everybody hang on to something."

"Hang on to something?" Krystal's voice came out in a shrill squeak. "Fox, we're in a landing shuttle, not a fighter. What do you plan to-" Krystal's eyes were suddenly unable to tell if the Lander was spinning, or if it was the entire universe outside. Her stomach, however, seemed to have decided on the former, and threatened to voice its objections by stamping 'return to sender' on her lunch.

"Sorry," Fox lied as he pointed the nose of the Lander back toward the hangar of the _Foxfire_. He guesstimated the distance in an instant to be less than four kilometers. They were seconds from home. _Even though she hasn't quite earned the name 'home' yet._ They had a chance of making it, if he could make one of the team's trademark miracles happen.

_Then again, I never had to pull off one of those miracles in a thruster-propelled shoebox with _Great Fox_ shooting at me,_ said a voice in Fox's head._ The situation right now though-_

_That's why it's called a miracle_, Fox reminded this voice. _Now let's fly._

An intuition that can only be had by those who spent their formative childhood years in battle warned Fox that the _Cry_ was preparing another shot, and Fox rolled the Lander in a cumbersome loop of which it should not have been capable. After that, his mind retreated and his hands and eyes took over. Here, in the cockpit of a ship (even a barely-armed abomination like this Lander), he was truly at home, for the first time since the Aparoid invasion. "If we can just outmaneuver those guns on the _Cry_ we can make it," Fox assured the others. "And since they were made for shooting at enemy capital ships instead of fighters, that shouldn't be too tough."

"Uh huh," Mike nodded and pointed at the fighter skipping happily around the _Foxfire_, seemingly as mindful of the Lander as an elephant would be of a ferret. "So what about that one?"

"That? Well, that'll be where it gets interesting."

Mike knew right away from the way Fox said 'interesting' that he wasn't going to like this part.

* * *

Another volley, another round of explosions, another series of alarms. In a part of Peppy's brain, fear of death was being overshadowed by annoyance at the ever-repeating chorus. That part of his brain, however, was at the rear, allowing the more practical, sensible part (what he believed was his common sense) take over at the front. And the part of his brain at the forefront had arrived at roughly the same conclusion Mike had moments before.

"Too bad James's not here to see this," Pigma taunted, no longer bombarding the Foxfire but gleefully dancing around it in a celebratory show of aerobatics, casually taking pot-shots as they came. It seemed he had already declared himself victorious. "I'll bet he'd love knowing that his wingman and his son are gonna die in the same day, and I'll be the one who does it."

"Go to Hell, Dengar," Peppy screamed back. It was a feeble retort, but with the apparent ineffectuality of the _Foxfire_'s guns, it was all he could manage.

"Aw, come on Peppy. There's no need to be rude." This was followed by peals of the migraine-inducing series of oinks, snorts and squeals that passed for Pigma's laugh. Peppy was preparing another of his meager comebacks when the floor beneath him rolled like the surface of a sea in a hurricane, and the universe went silent and the bridge went red.

The redness of the bridge, Peppy saw a moment later, was from the ship's emergency lights, which kicked in as the main power sputtered and died. But Peppy wondered momentarily at the silence. Every surface was covered in warning lights, and he could see panels shooting sparks into the air, but he could hear nothing. A single, sobering thought came one moment too late to be accepted. _Gods, I've gone deaf._ The proof to the contrary, which reached Peppy's brain a flash before that thought, was the dull ringing that began to fill his oversensitive ears, making him clutch the sides of his head as though he could squeeze the sound from it. Peppy became dimly aware that the computer had begun to voice another warning, but it was buried beneath the ringing. Then, slowly, the ringing subsided.

"-In six minutes. All personnel, abandon ship. Warning, secondary coolant tank ruptured. Reactor breach in six minutes. All personnel abandon ship. Warning, secondary-"

_Of course. Why not?_ "Fox," Peppy announced over the ship-to-ship, "we have a new problem."

* * *

"What is it, Peppy?"

"Fox," Peppy's voice came out in staggering breaths, sure signs of the potentially fatal mix of age and stress. "He took out the other coolant tank. The reactor's going to blow in six minutes. There's nothing I can do but jettison the bridge."

Fox nodded and turned to face the front of the Lander. "Peppy, you said six minutes, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you can guarantee us those six minutes?"

A pause. "Nope, but I guarantee there won't be more."

"We'll take our chances," Fox answered cavalierly, "because they're the only chances we have. Peppy, key the startup sequence for the Arwings, and then jet. I want them prepped and ready to go when we jump in them."

There was a note of roguish bravado in the old hare's voice as he replied "you got it, Fox."

"Wait a minute," Dr. J. intoned. "You got what? I missed something."

"Yeah, I think I did too." This was Mike.

"What'd you miss?" Fox asked nonchalantly. "When we bail off the Lander, Mike's going to pilot it out of the ship."

"Out of the ship?" Mike tried to shout, but his voice came out sounding as it had a few years prior, during the first throws of adolescence when a boy's voice alternates between James Earl Jones and Tiny Tim. "_That_ ship?"

Fox simply said, "yes."

"The one that's about to explode?"

"Yes."

"The one you just ordered Peppy to bail off of?"

"I'm glad to see we're on the same wavelength here, Mike. Now if you don't mind, I need to focus on flying."

It was Mica who spoke next. "Fox, this is suicide. The way you're describing this, if we can't get on, get your team to their fighters and leave within six minutes-"

"We'll all be dead," Fox finished. "Which will be no different than what will happen if we try to do what comes next without our Arwings."

Mica and Mike exchanged an even more worried look.

_**Mica, what does he mean 'what happens next?'**_

**_I was about to say 'I wish I knew,' but after further consideration I don't think I wish any such thing._**

Havoc's Cry_;_ _Bridge_

Zoda stood at the center of the bridge, crimson eyes fixed on the scene playing out before him. The Lander sped onward, putting more distance between itself and the Dreadnought's guns each second as it hurried toward the doomed _Foxfire_. The battle, it seemed, was won. In a matter of moments the ill-fated alliance of Terrans, Cornerians, and the last Argonians, would die aboard a half-century old Cornerian patrol ship. _The problem is I need them to die on Dragmire's altar, not have their atomized innards scattered across half the system._ "Shoot to disable only," He screamed at the gunner, "and target the Lander. I want them alive."

"Belay that," Andross roared, and Zoda spun around to face him, his cloak cutting a fan-shaped swath through the air around him as he did so.

"What did you say, Magister-of-science?"

Andross approached Zoda until the two were within striking distance of each other. "You're moronic devotion to a dead god has caused us more trouble than I'm willing to repeat. I say Dragmire be damned, and you with him for all I'm concerned. It's time to bring this idiotic episode to a long-overdue close. Gunner, full power to the cannons. Fire at will!"

"Negative, my lord," the gunner hissed. "They have passed out of firing range."

"Then signal Pigma to intercept," Andross commanded, noting the smug look visible even through the facial glass of Zoda's helmet. "Tell him to destroy the _Foxfire_ or the Lander before the two dock. I don't care which, but don't let them get aboard that ship!"

Zoda's smugness was replaced by confusion as he took note of Andross's apparent distress. _I'm inclined to echo that order not to let them get to the ship, but he's afraid of something._ "Don't tell me you're actually worried that they could salvage the situation, Doctor."

"That's Fox McCloud flying that thing," Andross said by way of a response. "I don't intend to let him get to an Arwing."

Zoda glanced from Andross to the forward window, where the Lander grew smaller and less intimidating still with each moment, and then back to Andross. _I don't see what kind of a threat he could pose if he did, but perhaps your paranoia will prove useful._ "I agree," he said. "Fully, I agree. But McCloud has outpilotted Pigma before, has he not?" Andross's eyes darted back and forth from the Lander to Pigma's fighter, making it clear to Zoda that the question beneath the question had found its mark. _Now, to add a little fuel…_ "And Pigma's still a bit bitter over that, isn't he? He'll want to try his luck again. But are you willing to gamble on his ability to outfly McCloud, blinded by jealousy?"

Apparently, it was enough. "Order Pigma to focus on the _Foxfire_," Andross amended his order to the radio yeoman. "I want it destroyed before McCloud gets there. Once he's restricted to that landing shuttle _then_ we'll turn our attention to him."

Almost a minute passed without any further input from Zoda. Then the _Foxfire_ exploded, and Zoda let out a scream of triumph. No one on the bridge joined him, however. Starship combat had never been Zoda's area of expertise, and consequently his knowledge of the situation that ensued then was based largely on Andross' enraged reaction, but as the fireball of the _Foxfire_'s destruction dissipated into the vacuum of space he realized there were more specks in the distance than he should have been able to see through the window, and they were moving quickly. _In this direction. What in the seven Hells?_ "Andross?"

"Arwings," Andross said in a measured, nearly robotic voice. "Four Arwings, one Landing Shuttle, and what appears to be the bridge escape pod. Furthermore, they're moving this direction, with Pigma fleeing before them."

Faced with this incomprehensible situation, Zoda turned his confused countenance upon Andross. There was a look of utter surety on the Venomian dictator's features. "And they're coming this way?" Andross nodded, and Zoda threw back his head and laughed, thinking to pick off the Arwings and draw the Lander in. "Pathetic. So this is some kind of 'final stand,' is it? A way to 'go down shooting?'"

"No. That's not Fox McCloud's way. If he fights, he fights for victory."

"But what sort of victory does he intend to salvage without his mothership?"

Andross finally turned and locked eyes with Zoda. "He intends to secure a new one," he said flatly. Then, turning to address the bridge crew, he yelled, "get two security detachments to the hangar entrance. I'll lead them myself!"

_Landing Shuttle 1; Argonian Orbit_

"Okay, Mike," Fox said over the radio. "We're going to get exactly one chance at this. Blow that chance, and it'll be a question of whether you crash into the hull before or after getting that Lander blasted to scrap."

"Uh, yeah," Mike responded as he began to settle into the pilot's chair of the Lander. Dr. J was already settled into the co-pilot's seat. "Do I even need to say that this is not making me feel any better about the situation?"

Fox's reply was curt. "No, you don't. Now listen, and I'll tell you how this is going to work. Okay?"

"No, not okay, but go ahead anyway."

"Good man. Now, do you see the Dreadnought's engines?"

Mike did. "You mean the three enormous flaming jets of burning death sticking out the back of the ship? Yeah. How could I miss them?"

"Well, you'd better come up with a way to, and quickly, because the target zone is a twelve meter nearly square opening just above those."

From Fox's reply, it was clear he and Mike had differing views of what it meant to 'miss them,' but Mike pushed that thought aside. There would be time for that later… he hoped. "Okay, and how big is this Lander?"

"About ten ten meters wide and eight high."

Suddenly Mike was grateful he'd had nothing to drink in almost a day. After all, he liked the pants he was wearing, and had no desire to stain the front of them, as he felt sure he otherwise would have at that. "Oh. So I've got about a meter on either side, and two meters above and below. 'Zat right?"

"Yeah, about. Now, we're we're going to go ahead of you and draw the fire from the main guns. Then, while she's focused on us, you'll fly past the ship, keeping as close to the hull as you can When you get behind it, pull a U-turn and aim for the entrance. Peppy'll be right behind you. Once you're aboard, we'll fly in. From there, it's all person-to-person. Ready?"

The answer to that was an undeniable 'no.' As Fox waited for a response, Mike removed the radio headset and rose from the pilot's seat. "Uncle Steve, I need you to do this. I can't do it."

There was a collective gasp from the Argonians in the back of the Lander as their hero, the object of countless legends yet to be written, faltered. Dr. J, however, kept his composure as he answered his nephew. "No, Mike," he said with a shake of his head. "It has to be you. You remember the flight sim programs you, Mica and I went through on the trip from Earth, don't you?"

"Yeah, and I sucked at them!"

"You did better than I did," Dr. J reminded him. "And better than Mica did. Now, I can co-pilot just fine, but you have got to fly the ship."

Mike's jaw began to quiver back and forth, up and down, but there was no speech. Only a barely audible moaning whine. When Mike finally did speak it was in short, whispered phrases. "I can't. I just can't."

"Yes you can, Mike," Mica said with undoubting certainty, rising from her seat and approaching Mike's. "I know it."

Mike said nothing in response.

By this time Mica was close enough that she rested her hands on Mike's shoulders. There was no panic in her eyes as they met his. There was no anguish, no 'dammit-you'd-best-grow-a-pair-and-fly-the-ship' speech waiting to be unleashed, no indication that this was the teenage girl who'd just lost her father for the second time. Where Mike expected to see all of those things there was only one simple emotion, made as clear in her eyes as it could have ever been if Mike had Read her then and there. Trust. "Mike," she said softly, but with enough volume that the others could hear. "I know you can do this. You've already saved Argonia… saved _me_… more times than I can count. And I have no doubt you can do it again now."

Mike looked flabbergasted. "Why? Because I'm the descendant of the Hero of Time? Mica, that doesn't mean-"

Mica cut Mike off with a finger pressed gently against his lips and shook her head slowly. "No. I know it because you're Mike Jones." As she said this, she kissed him. It was a hurried kiss, no more than a flutter of her lips against his, but it said everything that needed to be said. **_I believe in you, Mike._**

The change in Mike was not instant. For a few moments, Dr. J even felt sure Mike was going to go back to insisting that someone else fly the ship. But finally, after a three second interval that seemed to Dr. J to span lifetimes, Mike nodded his head and simply said, "okay." Slowly, with a look on his face that the combat veteran Dr. J recognized all-too-well, Mike returned to the pilot's chair and put the radio headset back on. "Fox, this is Mike," he said into the mouthpiece.

"Mike, good. For a minute I thought you lost your cool. You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go steal a starship."

"All-RIGHT!" This was Falco.

"Okay, team," Fox's anticipation showed in his voice as it always did before a sortie. "Form up. Let's rock!"

"And roll!" echoed Falco, Krystal and Slippy.

Mike saw the four Arwings assume a diamond formation in front of him. For a moment the team held its distance and bearing from the Lander perfectly, giving an instantaneous illusion that neither the Lander nor the Arwings were moving, but the starfield in front of them. Then, acting on some unspoken signal only they knew, the Star Fox Team streaked away to the right. A moment later there were flares of orange light as the _Havoc's Cry_'s guns struggled in vain to lock onto the fast moving fighters, and green specks as Fox's team returned fire anywhere that looked vulnerable. "Well, you heard him, Unc," Mike said to Dr. J. "think a man your age can still rock and roll?"

"It was my contemporaries who invented rock and roll," Dr. J answered with a grin. "Everything's ready, and your flight path is clear."

"No need to tell me twice." And with that, Mike accelerated the Landing shuttle to its top speed and barreled straight forward, ascending slightly as the _Havoc's Cry_ turned in an attempt to keep her bough-facing cannons toward Fox and company. Once they passed even with the _Cry_'s cockpit, it was another eight seconds before they cleared it's dorsal fin.

"Merciful God, look at the size of that thing!" Dr. J commented as they passed.

"Yeah," Mike agreed. "Bigger than Zoda's ship. A lot bigger." And then, the ship was behind them. The entire team was waiting now for one thing only: for him to turn around and make his run for the hangar. "Well folks, we're about five seconds from our landing zone, whether that's Heaven, Hell, or the hangar. Let's go." And go they did. Mike felt none of the expected nausea as the starfield before him spun like a carousel turned on its side, finally being replaced by a rear view of the rapidly growing Cornerian Dreadnought. In the fractional nano-moment he had, Mike aimed the Lander toward the hangar entrance that had been utilized by Pigma mere moments before, putting aside the knowledge that there would be no second chances. His eyes sent one urgent directive to his brain, and Mike choked back his brain's survival-instinct-driven response, which if vocalized would have sounded like a legion of Vietnam protestors chanting 'Hell no, we won't go!' Forward they went, and Mike didn't have time to be terrified until there was nothing left to be terrified about.

_Well, that's not _entirely_ true,_ he thought a moment later.

By the time the Argonian children, accompanied by Dr. J, thought to scream, they were already across the oxygen containment field of the hangar, their speed diminishing as the hangar's inertia-buster auomatically seized the craft and guided it to a nigh-instantaneous halt. In response, the G-Diffuser system kicked in inside the craft to prevent this instant change in speed from leaving the craft's occupants as stains on the forward window.

"Alright," Mike sighed his relief. "We're inside." Then, realization of the depth of this situation fully hit home, and the relief in his voice was short lived. In a few moments, once the hull was cooled and the sensors had time to equalize the air pressure inside and outside of the ship, the landing ramp would auto-lower itself, and they would be up against the crew of the _Havoc's Cry_, nine against God-only-knew-how-many. "Holy shit, we're _inside_ the ship!"

Dr. J. reached into his backpack and drew the pistol he'd tried to use on Zoda V, a German Ruger left to him by Colonel Marcus Jones. Mike drew the Super Nova from where it had been hastily stuffed in his own backpack during their flight from the Temple at the same moment, and Mica turned toward the landing ramp, preparing to Shockwave anything that attempted to enter and harm the last of her subjects. _Her subjects,_ Dr. J. reflected. _I wonder if that's even fully sunk in for her yet._ Mica, leaving Dr. J. with little to wonder on that subject, was in front of the huddling children in an instant, and by the time another second passed she was accompanied by Daru, Naberra and Impek. As Mike and Dr. J. took posts on opposite ends of the growing line, Dr. J. cracked a grin.The last time Dr. Jones had let anyone see that grin, he'd been First Lieutenant Jones. It was, he recalled, a soldier's grin, a warrior's grin. _A killer's grin, when he's about to do what killers do best. Seems I can't get away from this, God help me. _

Mike, meanwhile, was vaguely aware that the other three Argonians had taken positions behind and between them, their own energies prepared to unleash a glimpse of whatever Hell the Argonians believed in upon whoever or whatever came up that landing ramp first. His ears, attuned by his three-month indoctrination in what it meant to fight for his life, began to pick up shuffling sounds from outside the Lander. Lot's of them. Distant, but getting closer. _Footfalls. We're about to have loads of company._

Before the things with the feet got any closer though, there was a 'Fwoosh' Mike would later come to recognize as the sound of a ship passing through the air forcefield of the hangar, and a great rush of air. This was followed by an instant in which the shuffling came faster, and now growing more distant, before the deck beneath the Lander rolled. The ten people aboard the Lander covered their ears as the screech of metal-on-metal ripped through the air, drowning out the shuffling._ Or silencing it,_ Dr. J realized as the screeching died away, the inertia-buster having finally compensated for the great size of the bridge escape pod Peppy flew.

"That would be Peppy, I think," Dr. J said hopefully. The others gave no response. Looking around, the scientist glimpsed something in their faces that was as far from hope as it could be. Not terror, not really, but the resolve that replaces terror when one has come to accept the possibility of death. All of them clearly knew something he didn't. And since he was the only non-psionic in the group, he had a fair idea what that could mean. "He's out there, isn't he? Zoda's right out there in the hangar."

"And Andross too," Mike said with a nod.

Dr. J gripped the pistol a little more tightly, his thumb moving to the safety. "Then they're coming."

"No," Mica answered. "They're waiting."

"Waiting?" Dr. J's brow furrowed as he spoke. "For wha… _ah_. I see."

Mike nodded. "Yeah. They're waiting for the gang to all be here."

Before Dr. J said anything in response, the rear door that served as the landing ramp began to open on its floor-mounted hinges. They all tensed, preparing to fight off a legion of Andross's crewmen, even though they all felt certain there would be no such aggression until Zoda and Andross were ready. Mike was actually surprised when a small squad of what he felt had to be the Lylatian answer to salamanders charged the door, firing frantically (and with dismally poor aim) from laser rifles Mike recognized all too well. These were the same rifles the Dragmirian 'robots' on board Zoda W's ship had used. There hardly seemed to be enough of them to account for all the shuffling of feet he'd heard earlier, but a single glance at the rapidly expanding pinkish-red blob underneath Peppy's escape pod told Mike the rest of the story. "Well, that takes care of the Stormtroopers," he said with what was probably too much cheer for the situation. "Let's go take down Vader and the Emperor."

"Which one is which?" Dr. J asked off-handedly.

Mike seemed to casually consider this as the nine moved down the landing ramp and into full view of anyone and everyone in the hangar. "Well, Zoda wears a cloak and a helmet, and Andross is old and hunched over."

By this time, Dr. J was looking around at the hangar. It continued to maintain most of its width for a goodly portion of the ship's length before finally, at a distance Dr. J could only guess at, ending in a sheer wall. Even from this end of the hangar, Dr. J could see that the floor at the foot of that wall looked different from the rest of the floor. _Probably a craft elevator to the lanch bay on the bottom… I mean, the ventral side,_ he thought, cataloging this information for later, if indeed there was to be a later. On the sides of this vast runway, the walls were lined with doors which he guessed led to the rest of the ship. Near the rear, not far from where they had just disembarked, one of these great doors stood open. Standing in it, making no effort either to hide or to fire, stood Zoda, Andross and a creature Dr. J decided simply had to be Pigma Dengar, flanked by nearly two-dozen more of the rifle-wielding salamanders. As he saw them, Dr. J froze, then elbowed Mike and motioned with his head toward them. Mike froze, following Dr. J's gaze. He was followed in turn by each of the Argonians, until the ten of them stood staring at their soon-to-be attackers in what Mike found to be an almost laughable face-off.

"Why aren't they firing?" Dr. J. whispered to Mike.

"Because I need your pointy-eared companions alive, Doctor," Zoda called out across the nearly thirty meters between them. "And you needn't whisper. After all, we're all old friends here, right?"

_Son-of-a-bitch read my thoughts,_ Dr. J realized.

"Yes, I did," Zoda replied. "And that was not polite, by the way."

That was when Mica did something Dr. J. didn't quite understand, at least at the moment. She slowly stepped behind him, reached into his backpack, and pulled something out of it. Illogical as it seemed, Dr. J. somehow knew the 'something' in question was the Oxford Wonder World. From somewhere else, seemingly much farther away than it could possibly have been, Dr. J heard four quieter versions of the sound he'd heard when Peppy's escape pod entered the hangar. The Star Fox Team had arrived.

"Ah," Andross said in a nostalgic tone, "the son of James McCloud." As he said this he laughed, and Zoda joined briefly in the laughter.

"I told you I need your pointy-eared friends alive," Zoda repeated. "But them?" He waved a disgusted hand toward the Arwings. "They've brought you to me, and have thus outlived their usefulness. Andross, have your men do as you like."

Andross shot Zoda a look of utter revulsion, which Zoda noticed not in the slightest.

"Getting ordered around on his own ship, is he?" Dr. J asked of Mike. "Well, I guess you were wrong about which one's the emperor and which one's the apprentice."

"The emperor and the apprentice?" Zoda called out mockingly as the salamanders took up positions around the Arwings from which they could rain laser fire on anything that emerged. "Fool! Just like your Argonian friends, you're constantly worried with who rules who, failing to realize that everyone has a time to serve and a time to be served. Power is meaningless, you poor microbe. All things serve the designs of the Dark Lord, and the only way to survive his rise is to realize that."

As Zoda uttered the words 'all things serve the designs of the Dark Lord,' without any reason why, each of the ten recalled the last meeting in the Chief's hut at Coralcola, and Merlin's words 'if the enemy were revealed to them now, he would be more than they could comprehend.'

Zoda, however, took no notice and went on. "And now, my friends, we come to the end of House Jones' part in this tale."

"I doubt that," Mica said with a calm that chilled even her allies.

This time, Zoda took notice. Fixing Mica with his most incredulous stare, the Dragmirian Priest held his hands out as if directing her to look around. "Princess, princess, princess. You're outnumbered, exhausted, outgunned, and your beloved father isn't here to waste his life giving you an escape chance this time. Even in all your youthful naiveté, you can't possibly think you can win the day."

When Mica responded, it was difficult to tell who was more surprised at her response: Zoda, or her allies. They all expected some defiant speech in the name of Argonia, or Link, or perhaps even the Alliance. Instead, she just shook her head calmly and answered, "no." As Zoda joined the Argonians and the Jones' in a gasp of shock, Mica continued, her voice higher and more forceful this time. "No, no, no. Not here, not now. Or in Hylian..." There was a collective cry of 'no' from Mike, Dr. J, and Zoda as Mica threw the Oxford Wonder World open to the ninth and final chapter and screamed the incantation. "Paa, paa, paa, oompa, pa mow-mow."

Mike had used the book before, And Dr. J had seen it used, but this time it did not behave the way either of them was accustomed to. There was no rapid fluttering sound as an invisible hand thumbed through the pages at lightning speed. There was no flickering blue iridescence, as Mike had expected, and Mica and the book did not both take on a blinding glow and vanish, as Dr. J had expected. Instead, everything in the entire group's field of vision took on a silver-ish sheen, and they all found themselves unable to move. There was a series of animalian shrieks from the salamanders as they vanished into thin air. (In actuality, it was not the salamanders who vanished, but the ship around them, with Andross, Zoda, and the Alliance remnant on board, leaving the salamanders to live out a few utterly confused milliseconds in the vacuum of space, but none of them could have known that.) The only thing familiar to Mike was the ear-piercing whistling sound. Only this time, everyone heard it, seeming to come simultaneously from everywhere and nowhere. To Mica, it was much the same as hearing the ocarina minutes before had been.

Then the silver glow vanished, and they all found themselves able to move once more. And move they did, through the air as some massive impact made the entire ship shudder. Mike caught a glimpse of a massive section of the ship above him being torn away, revealing a pale blue cloudless sky above him. A moment later, as he felt himself collide with one of the sections of the ceiling that remained, he realized this had not been the sky he was looking at, but the sea. Wherever they were, they were upside-down. In the confusion, he saw Zoda and Andross tumble out through the hole in the ceiling/floor and fall toward two reddish shapes nearby them, which he guessed were ships of some kind. After later consideration, he would come to assume that a collision with one of those red-hulled ship had been the impact that tore the roof, and the dorsal fin, off of the hangar. The odds of their fall being at the exact moment it would have to be for them to fall onto one of the ships instead of into the sea below seemed insane, but Mike had come to accept impossible coincidences as the rule of the day. _We'll be seeing those two again,_ he assured himself bitterly as he struggled to maintain his grip on whatever it was he'd fallen onto. Another impact rocked the ship, and the blue of the sea became a blur of brown and green, miles closer than the sea had been. Mike's brain didn't allow itself the luxury of puzzling over the paradox implied by this until some time later. For now, he was more concerned with making sure he didn't fall into either one. Around him he heard a scream that sounded like Mica, followed by a grunt of pain from Dr. J as the ship impacted with something a third time, this time spraying the hangar with dirt and rocks. Mike happened to turn his head at the right time to see one such small rock coming directly for him, too fast to dodge. "Lights out I guess," he muttered, and it was so.

* * *

_At exactly what point did this entire situation go straight to Hell_? Andross wanted to shriek as he gazed up from where he'd fallen at the Havoc's Cry, now growing smaller and smaller in the sky above him. Forcing himself to ignore the pain that short through his back from his fall, he sat up to behold Zoda. Somehow, it seemed, the Priest had managed to land, uninjured, on his feet. And seeing him gives me a good idea of the answer to my question, Andross thought as he climbed to his feet.

"I see you are well," Zoda greeted.

"I'm alive," Andross corrected, and with this statement, realized that it should not have been true. "What happened?"

"It would seem the Ancestor has a purpose yet for us," Zoda answered, his voice dripping with the dogmatic self-assuredness of a religious zealot. "This vessel broke our fall."

Andross glanced at his feet and, seeing the wooden plating of a deck, accepted the priest's statement, if not the justification for it. Judging by the air pressure, they were quite a distance from the ground, and he estimated their fall to have been no more than twenty or thirty meters. There was a collision, I think. We're probably standing on what caused the collision. Accepting this, Andross raised his eyes to have a look around at the vessel that had saved them. In a space of seconds he came to a mind-bending conclusion, and gaped.

Zoda took a few cautious steps toward him. "You have some idea where we are, it would seem?"

Andross stood, looking in every direction as if seeking some proof that his eyes deceived him. When he finally spoke, it was in the voice of an awestruck child, rather than the Tyrant of Venom. "I know this ship, Zoda. I've stood here before. But how…"

After a pause, Zoda prodded him. "'How' what?"

"How can this ship be here? And flying? It's been dormant since before the Alliance Charter."

Zoda shook his head slowly to show that this meant nothing to him. "What ship is this, Andross?" His voice betrayed a modicum of lost patience, subtly hinting that there was a limit to his tolerance for Andross's apparent wonder. This is a time for facts.

Andross did not look at Zoda when he spoke. Instead, his eyes were focused on the back of the ship. Following Andross's gaze, Zoda noticed an elevated section with forward-facing windows. Flames flickered within the windows, and shadowy figures wearing dark metal armor moved about to suppress them. "You've read about Corneria's global war five centuries ago, correct?"

Zoda's answer was terse. "Some. It didn't peak my interest. Make your point."

"This vessel is in the war museum, Zoda. I've stood on its deck there many times before. But I don't understand how it can be here!"

Zoda emitted a close-mouthed sigh, barely maintaining his composure. "And?"

Andross finally turned to Zoda. "This is the Techno-Empire's flagship, Zoda! We're standing on the deck of the _E.G.G. Carrier_!"

* * *

When Mike regained consciousness (he briefly allowed himself to wonder if he might be dead, but as he took stock of his surroundings he decided neither Heaven nor Hell would look this much like the hangar), he was lying on his back on the floor. The hole in the ceiling had shrunk, there were ships (including four Arwings and one Cornerian Lander) hung on one of the walls with magnetic constrictors, and the hangar entrance was wider than it had been. _No, that can't be right, _he told himself as he sat up and looked around. As he looked more closely, he began to understand that it was not the hangar entrance he saw in front of him, but the ceiling. The hangar entrance was above him, the gape where the ceiling should have been was in front of him, and he was lying on what had recently been the hangar's front wall. The 'wall' where the ships hung in a manner that now seemed infinitely perilous to Mike was actually the floor. The ship, it seemed, was lodged nose-down somewhere, and judging by the size of the crater he could now see outside, it must have been a good distance into the turf. Of course, that stood to reason, given the size of the ship. It seemed to him nothing short of a miracle that they'd all survived the crash.

Then another thought came to him. _Did we all survive?_ "Mica?" He shouted, rising to his feet too quickly to bother making sure he was able to stand. "Uncle Steve? Saera? Fox? Anyone?"

"Right here, Mike," Mica answered from behind him, and Mike spun around to face her. She was sitting with her back propped up against the floor/wall, and it looked to Mike like she had been asleep until moments ago. "And yes, they're all okay, except for some cuts and bruises." She pointed a finger at Mike in a way that would have seemed accusing were it not for the sleepy half-smile that accompanied it. "As usual, it's _you_ we were worried about, hero."

"Guess I'm just a pain in the ass like that," Mike said, matching Mica's smile with his own lop-sided Han-Solo grin as he walked toward her to help her to her feet. "So where is everyone?"

Mica pointed toward the rip in the ceiling that now served as a door. "Out there, trying to figure out where we are. I stayed behind to keep an eye on you."

Mike grinned, and was about to whisper something flirtacious in her ear about the opportunities presented by the two of them being alone like this when Fox entered. "Mike! You pulled through! Great!"

"Yeah," Mike agreed, grinning a little awkwardly as he felt the opportunity he'd started to mention to Mica slipping away, at least for the moment. "It takes more than that to keep me down." The last was said with a weariness that was obvious even to the one who said it, and Mike briefly wondered just what could be 'more than that.'

Fox chuckled. "If that's true, you must be just about invincible. Anyway," his face changed from gladly surprised to the look of one who was forcing himself to believe he had not gone mad. "You're up just in time. You two should come see where we are."

"Oh? You know where we are?" Mica asked.

Fox scratched the back of his head. "Well, that's the thing. We're on some island, but… well, come check this out."

He led them at a run to a beach, barely half a mile from the crash site, where the rest of the Argonians, along with the Cornerians and Dr. J. were all assembled. A few greeted Mike with relieved hugs, but Fox pushed him through these pleasantries to the sight he'd brought them here to see. "Like I said," he said as Mike and Mica's eyes widened in shock. "We're on an island, but…"

"What the Hell? What _is_ this? Gulliver's Travels?" Was all Mike managed to say as he took a few steps down the beach toward the line where the surf should have been, and that was when Mike decided reality had called in sick and left Dr. Seuss to cover his shift. From this beach, one could indeed look out over the horizon and see where sea met sky, but that was where the apparent similarities between this island and any other Mike could ever imagine ceased, for where the high tide line should have been, there was nothing but a sheer drop off. Without approaching that drop off any more closely, Mike was unable to determine how far down it was, but it was clear that this was no ordinary beach, and this island should not have been able to exist.

This was, it seemed, a flying island.

"Umm," Mike stammered. "Does anyone have any ideas about this?"

"Well," Impek spoke up, "I'm not sure if this relates to the oddities of our new surroundings, but it may interest some of you to know that the ninth chapter of the Oxford Wonder World has about four more pages than it had when the Prin… the Regess opened it."

For a few moments, Mike and Mica stood, rooted to where they stood by the sight. Once they felt sure their eyes had seen all their brains could take without rebelling, they turned and looked at Impek. "Well," Mica prompted. "What does it say about this?"

_Elsewhere in Reality, Apart from Time_

Merlin Ambrosius watched the words appear on the pages of the Oxford Wonder World with an anxious fascination. To be sure, he already knew what they said. After all, he wrote the book. Even so, reailty had a way of changing what he'd written, so it was always best to be mindful when a chapter unfolded like this. _Besides, I've got precious little else to do until he shows up. That's the trouble with Ancient Ones. Time doesn't have nearly the same importance to them that it does to the rest of us._

"I'm sorry I'm late," came a voice so sing-song that Merlin wondered briefly if the one to whom it belonged had not intended the timing as a prank. Age, he knew, had not taken the mischief out of this one.

"It's perfectly alright, elder," Merlin said with an air of reverence as he turned and faced the one who had spoken. To anyone not aware of the awesome power at that being's disposal, his/her/it's appearance (_No, that's 'his' appearance,_ Merlin reminded himself) would have seemed absurd. It was, to the eye, a glowing gold five-pointed star, about four feet in diameter at the points, with an approximation of a human face on it. To add to the absurdity, this face had a white mustache. _Of course, he likes to have a look people can laugh at. It keeps mortals from being terrified by him, when it's what he's trying to destroy that they should be afraid of._ He was called 'Eldstar' to the people who knew of him. Merlin Ambrosius, however, preferred to call him as he had once been called, back when this being had been a friend to his father, Link. "I would not presume to rush Merlin Prower."

Eldstar turned slightly back and forth, a gesture Merlin had come to associate with a dismissive wave. "No need to be so servile, Merlin. We're old friends."

Merlin smiled. "True enough, since few are closer friends than us, and fewer still are older than us." The two Merlins laughed, and then it was back to business.

"So," Eldstar spoke urgently. "They have been Called Away?"

Merlin nodded. "I still don't fully understand why the Cornerians needed to become entangled in this, but I did as you instructed."

"I've never instructed you in anything," Eldstar insisted. "But I thank you for following my advice. And as for the Cornerians," his voice took on a more melancholy tone as he continued, "the Dark Lord himself used Andross, did he not? Just as he used Zoda, and Dragmire before him? He is, for certain, one of the five, and I'd be hesitant to allow the scales to be tipped with no champions there for counterweight."

Merlin nodded, conceding this point. "Perhaps you're right. You do have an irritating habit of being so."

Eldstar chuckled, but it was a chuckle of irony rather than humor. "And cursed I am, for not developing that habit sooner."

"I've told you countless times, Elder, you can't blame yourself. Even if you had known, the Ancient Ones might not have listened, and-"

"Yes," Eldstar interrupted, his tone indicating agreement in spite of a desire to disagree. "You're likely the one who is right this time."

Merlin said nothing.

"But regardless," Eldstar returned to the matter at hand, "let us turn our attention to other things."

"Indeed," Merlin said amiably. "As stated, the ones carrying the book have gone through. The crew of that ship was likely lost, I fear, since the book will not transport those who are not found within its pages." Eldstar frowned at this, as Merlin knew he would. "I apologize, Elder. I know you don't like for mortal lives to be lost."

"I'm as mortal as you, Merlin," Eldstar insisted. "But I take your meaning. And it's true, I don't like it, but this is a war, whether I would have it be so or not."

Merlin nodded, and went on. "Now, there is the matter of the others."

"Yes," Eldstar agreed. "As for my nephew's friends, they were successfully Called Away five hundred of your world's years ago. Isaac saw to that." There was a flicker of guilt in Eldstar's eyes, but it soon passed.

"And a Link and a Zelda were brought through with the Ocarina ages before my father even came to Earth, so that leaves only the other two."

"And they're likely the most important," Eldstar reminded him. "After all, if I recall your tale correctly, they're the ones who've actually contended with the Dark Lord, or at least an avatar of him."

"They were born into the time of the Vanguard War," Merlin replied. "And they returned there four of Earth's years ago." With a grin, he added, "Steven Jones had a part in making sure of that, in fact."

"Really?" Eldstar asked, barely surprised. "I suppose that's to be expected. Well, it seems the Vanguard is assembled, in a manner of speaking."

Merlin nodded.

"And you're sure you engineered the book to take them to the exact Time of the Junctioning?"

Again, Merlin nodded. "November of 3133, by Earth's calendar. One year from the rise of the Dark Lord."

Eldstar sighed wearily. "Hard to believe, after all this time it will come to a head in barely more than a thousand of that tiny planet's paths around its sun."

"The Dark Lord is cutting it as close as we are, Elder," Merlin said reassuringly.

"Yes, I suppose he is," came the reply. "Well then, I suppose our work is nearly complete then."

"Save for one thing," Merlin finished. "And as to that, I suppose I'll see you in 3133. I pray it goes well for us."

"I'll be waiting, young one," Eldstar answered, and Merlin disappeared in a blaze of orange light. Once he was gone, Eldstar, who had once been Merlin Prower, said to the empty space where he had been, "but who does one pray to when the masses pray to him?" Merlin Prower dismissed that thought almost immediately. Such was undoubtedly the way the Dark Lord, Bao'zar, thought before his… _would you call that his rise, or his fall?_ "Oh well, old friend. I'll see you in 3133." And then Eldstar was gone, to wait, as all the Ancient ones had learned to do. For good or ill, the Vanguard War had begun.


End file.
